IC-NRLF 


B    3    135    Blfl 


QBH 


gALlFRONIA 


VOICES  OF  THE  YEAR 
ON  S^N  JOAQU1N. 
IN  MEMORIAM. 
MOODS. 


CALIFORNIA   SUNSHINE 


LILLIAN   HINMAN   SHUEY. 


"  He  either  fears  his  fate  too  much, 

Or  his  deserts  are  small, 
Who  fears  to  put  it  to  the  touch, 
To  win  or  lose  it  all." 

— Marquis  of  Montrose. 


OAKLAND,  CALIFORNIA. 

PACIFIC  PRESS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 

MDCCCLXXXVIII. 


"O  flowering  stretches  glow  and  shine, 
The  language  of  my  heart  is  thine.  ' 


COPYRIGHT. 


Dedicated  to  My  First  Love : 


164452 


CONTENTS. 

VOICES  OF  THE  YEAR. 


CALIFORNIA.        -        -  n 

VOICES  OF  THE  YEAR.      -  13 

THE  CHARIOTS  OF  HEAVEN.  15 

ROBERT  MY  ROVER.         -  16 

APRIL,  FAIR  ENCHANTRESS.  17 

MY  GIRL.  18 

BERKELEY  BLOSSOMS.  20 

MAY,  1883.      -        -  22 

A  DECEMBER  WALK.  23 

LAW  vs.  JUSTICE.    (A  Satire.)  24 

SEPTEMBER  DAYS.        -        -  25 

IN  THE  BARLEY  FIELD.  26 

CLAYTON.    (In  Contra  Costa.)       -         -  27 

BIRD  OF  ART.  28 

A  CLEAR  DAY  IN  WINTER.  29 

THE  SUMMER.  3° 

A  MOUNTAIN  SPRING.  3° 

WHY  SING  OF  YOUTH!  31 

CLOUDS  OF  APRIL.  33 

THE  LILY  CUP.  34 

ARBOR  DAY.         •                 ...  35 


viii  Contents. 

MY  SOUTH  WIND.  36 

A  DECEMBER  DAY. 37 

To  A  PEAR  TREE  ON  AUBURN  RAVINE.  39 

THE  GOLDEN  SPIKE     -        -  39 


ON  THF.  SAN   JOAQUIN. 


THE  SAN  JOAQUIN.  45 

MOURNING  DOVE.  46 

THE  CROSS  ON  THE  ROCK.  47 

FOR  FRIENDS.  49 

THE  FLOATING  COBWEBS.  50 

THE  SPRING  STORM  ON  SAN  JOAQUIN  52 

SEEDING  TIME.  53 

AFTER  DARK  ON  SAN  JOAQUIN.  54 

THE  OLD,  OLD  HOUSE.  55 

GOD  FORGIVES.  57 

CHARACTER.         -  58 

WORKING  FAITH.  59 

THREE  SISTERS.  60 

WE  ARE  TOO  PROUD.  60 

THE  LARK'S  SONG.     -  61 

THE  OLD  MAN  OF  THE  MOUNTAIN.  62 

MY  HERBARIUM.  63 

EAST  OF  Mi.  DIABLO.       -        -  6$ 

LIKE  THE  RAIN.  67 

HAND  IN  HAND  WITH  SORROW.  68 

A  LITTLE  LOVING  WOMAN.  69 


Contents.  ix 

A  LESSON  OF  TRUST.  7° 

GOLDEN  DAYS.     -  71 

THE  OAKS  OF  TULARE.  72 

THE  QUEEN.        ....  73 

NONCHALANCE.        - 73 

A  FIELD  LESSON.  75 

HERE  LIES  AN  HONEST  MAN.  76 

THE  SUPREME  THOUGHT.  ....  77 


-o- 


IN    MEMOR1AM 


-o- 


SALLIE  WYTHE  WILLIAMS. 81 

CARRIE  CLIFFORD  WENK.  82 

RUBY.'     -        -  82 

CHILD  ARMS. :  84 

GERTRUDE  WELLINGTON.        -  85 


MOODS. 


-o- 


MY  HANDS.  89 

A  WALK.          -  9° 

CALIFORNIA  LITERARY  AND  SCIENTIFIC  CIRCLE.  91 

A  RKGAL  LIFE.         -        -  93 

PRESCIENCE.  95 

THE  PASSING  OF  SPRING.  95 


x  Contents. 

RE  PIN  INGS.  96 

THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY.  97 

AGE  AND  LOVE.  98 

SOLITUDE. 99 

MY  FAITH.  100 

WINDOW  PLANTS.  101 

PEACE.  102 

MY  FATHER'S  HOUSE.  103 

THEN.  105 

A  PERFECT  LIFE.  106 

To  ONE,  A  POET.  107 

COMPANIONSHIP.      -        -  108 

PRESSED  VIOLETS  IN  A  BORROWED  CLASSIC.  109 

THE  MONTHLY  MAGAZINE.      -  no 

CUPID  CLIPPED.  112 

THE  NEED.  114 
HIGH  NOON.                                                                              -    .       114 

NAY,  NOT  WIND.      -  115 

PLOWING  UNDER  THE  FLOWERS.  116 

A  DROP  OF  FAITH.  117 

DARE.  118 

NAPA.  120 

THE  BEST.  .        -  120 

STRENGTH.       ---------  121 


VOICES  OF  THE  YEAR. 


CALIFORNIA. 


Sown  is  the  golden  grain;  planted  the  vines. 
Fall  swift,  O  loving  rain.     Lift  prayers,  O  pines. 
O  green  land,  O  gold  land,  fair  land  by  the  sea, 
The  trust  of  thy  children  reposes  in  thce. 

(xi) 


yNIVERSlTY 

OF 


VOICES  OF  THE    YEAR. 

LIST  the  voices  of  the  year! 

Softly,  hear! 

Wandering  near 
Come  their  whispers  to  my  ear; 

As  they  fleet, 
Crowding  thoughts  their  joys  repeat. 

April  sings  in  cloudy  air, 

So  bright  and  fair, 

All  unaware 
That  pearls  are  shimmering  down  her  hair; 

While  the  sound 
Seems  like  rain-drops  strewn  around. 

Through  the  passion  song  of  May 

Sweet  hopes  stray, 

Such  as  play 
O'er  young  hearts  unwrought  to  pray, 

Gladdening  still 
Lovers  on  the  flowered  hill. 

Hark!  the  wild  dove's  plaintive  tune; 
It  is  June. 
Far  too  soon 

d3) 


14  California  Sunshine. 

Reapers  love  the  rest  of  noon. 

The  flowers  die 
All  weary  of  the  wide,  hot  sky. 

Hear  the  rustling  through  the  wheat! 

Words  complete — 

Praises  sweet — 
Made  the  harvest  wealth  to  greet, 

While  the  days 
Golden  in  the  summer  haze. 

Now  the  tones  of  summer  pale, 

Fade  and  fail — 
Hist  !  the  quail 
Whistling  on  the  mountain  trail; 

Softly,  hush, 
Hunters  in  the  underbrush. 

Voices  in  a  monotone 

Seem  to  moan. 

Dry  and  lone 
Are  the  pathways  we  have  known. 

Falling  leaves 
Flutter  on  the  winged  breeze. 

Windy  voices,  faint  and  fine, 
Weave  in  rhyme, 
As  ye  chime 


Voices  of  the    Year,  \  5 

Hopes  and  fears  of  seeding-time, 

When  each  grain, 
List'ning,  waits  the  sound  of  rain. 


THE  CHARIOTS  OF  HE  A  VEN. 

BREAK  forth  into  chorus  of  singing, 
Ye  silver-tongued  birds  of  the  sky, 

For  the  South  Wind,  the  South  Wind  is  bringing 
His  horsemen  and  chariots  by. 

The  horsemen  and  hosts  of  the  conqueror, 

The  king  and  his  cohorts  of  rain, 
See,  see,  how  the  legions  sweep  over 

The  land  of  the  vine  and  the  grain! 

Drought  and  his  minions  are  vanquished, 
The  conqueror's  raiment  is  kissed ; 

And  the  spirits  of  famine  and  sorrow 
Went  out  in  the  shroud  of  the  mist. 

Far  roll  the  gray  chariots  of  hea>*en ; 

The  mountains  allegiance  bring. 
The  lowlands  with  emerald  banners 

Proclaim  that  the  South  Wind  is  kincr. 


1 6  California  Sunshine. 

Spring  upward,  spring  upward,  gold  flowers, 

Bird  choirs  innumerable,  sing! 
For  the  hosts  and  the  chariots  have  brought  us 

The  growth  and  the  gladness  of  spring. 

g 


ROBERT,  MY  ROVER. 


O  ROBERT,  my  rover,  the  dew's  on  the  clover 
And  shining  like  pearls  on  the  grain ; 

The  lark  and  the  linnet  sing  sweet  every  minute, 
A-wooing  their  loves  in  the  lane. 

The  dry  time  is  over,  and  rain  through  the  clover 

Runs  eastward  in  murmuring  rills  ; 
Thick  grasses  aregrowing,bright  flowers  are  blowing, 

All  over  the  hay-slopes  and  hills. 

O  Robert,  my  rover,  how  sweet  is  the  clover 

Down  there  in  the  beautiful  hay, 
Where    loitered  we  grieving,  that  night  you  were 
leaving 

To  seek  for  your  fortune  away. 

Now,  Robert,  my  rover,  the  dry  time  is  over, 
Sweet  hope,  in  our  hearts  may  have  room, 

Like  the  perfumed  whiteness,  the  pink-tinted  bright 
ness, 
The  glow  of  the  orchard  in  bloom. 


Voices  of  the    Year.  17 

Soon  blossoms  the  clover,  then,  Robert,  my  rover, 

The  barley  will  shine  like  the  sea; 
Come  back  to  the  plowing,  the  haying,  and  Maying, 

Come  home  to  the  country  and  me. 


-§- 


APRIL,  FAIR  ENCHANTRESS. 


SHE  is  so  bright  and  winning, 
She  is  so  fair  and  sweet, 

She  bids  me  not  go  sorrowing, 
She  will  not  let  me  weep. 

She  flits  before  my  windows, 
She  tarries  at  my  door, 

And  whispers  to  me  softly, 
Oh,  nourish  care  no  more! 

All  day  her  voices  call  me, 
Bird  airs  and  roundelays, 

To  leave  life's  mournful  music, 
And  sing  unto  her  praise. 

And  when  I  wander  sadly, 
As  if  to  check  my  sighs 

She  spreads  her  nodding  flowers 
Before  my  downcast  eyes. 


1 8  California   Sunshine. 

I  draw  my  bonnet  lower 

To  hide  her  witching  grace; 

A  merry  breeze  a-jesting 

Quick  blows  it  from  my  face. 

She  warms  my  cheeks  with  kisses, 
She  snatches  every  tear; 

She  lifts  my  soul  with  beauty, 
She  calms  each  trembling  fear. 

Soft,  fleecy  clouds  go  dreaming 
Across  the  heavenly  blue; 

Wide  stretch  the  emerald  meadows, 
All  cool  with  morning  dew. 

She  is  my  gay  enchantress, 
My  April  rare  and  sweet; 

She  bids  me  not  go  sorrowing, 
She  will  not  let  me  weep. 

§— 


MY  GIRL. 

WAS  Sierra  so  proud  of  its  forests, 

Or  crown  of  its  pearl, 
Was  a  miser  so  rich  in  his  treasure, 

As  I  in  my  girl? 


Voices  of  the    Year.  19 

Was  ever  a  mother  so  blessed 

And  happy  as  I? 
My  girl  is  a  gem  to  my  life, 

As  stars  to  the  sky. 

She  is  lying  at  rest  on  my  bosom, 

A  flower  asleep. 
God  grant  that  her  blue  eyes  may  open, 

Yet  never  to  weep. 

I  pray  that  no  anguish  may  furrow 

The  brow  of  my  girl, 
Nor  that  sad  "years  of  sorrow  may  silver 

This  delicate  curl. 

If  thus  should  God  grant  to  my  darling 

A  life  without  pain, 
He  would  close  these  dear  eyes  to  the  sunshine, 

Nor  open  again. 

God  knows  that  to  live  she  must  suffer 

And  wander  astray, 
But  he  missions  the  angels  to  keep  her 

The  long  weary  way. 

Safe  be  the  path  that  they  walk  in, 

These  little  white  feet, 
May  they  grow  into  strength  and  perfection 

If  rough  ways  they  meet. 


2O  California  Sunshine. 

May  charity  flow  from  these  fingers 

Now  folJed  at  rest, 
May  they  weave  in  life's  wonderful  fabric 

Threads  finest  and  best. 

A  heart  all  untried  has  my  darling, 

A  pure  heart  I  know; 
God  grant  that  earth's  brave  ones  will  help  her 

In  keeping  it  so. 

And  thus  at  the  shrine  of  my  treasure 

I  wait  with  a  prayer; 
While  my  hopes  go  out  to  the  future — 

For  my  answer  is  there. 


BERKELEY  BLOSSOMS. 

BERKELEY  blossoms  bright  and  rare, 

Sweetest  blossomed  anywhere, 

Were  ye  mindful  of  your  duties, 
While  the  sunlight  died  your  beauties, 

As  ye  budded  slow  and  saintly  in  the  summer  air? 

Berkeley  roses,  gold  and  cream, 
Did  your  folded  petals  dream 

Most  of  dark,  sad  rooms,  and  faces 


Voices  of  the    Year.  2 1 

Turning  mutely  to  the  vases 

Where  your  bending  clusters  would  in  stately  beauty 
gleam  ? 

Did  ye  dream  so,  cream  and  white, 
Waxen  roses,  frail  and  light, 

Of  the  pain  ye  would  dissemble, 

Of  the  fingers  that  would  tremble 

To  reach   forth  and  clasp   you   in   the  weary  wakeful 
night? 

Purple  pansies,  widely  blown, 
In  your  fancies  was  it  known 

What  your  mistress  was  desiring, 

Bending  o'er  you  so — untiring, 

While  her  soul's    sweet    musings    in    her    clear    eyes 
shone  ? 

Heliotrope,  in  bud  and  bloom, 
Breathing  fragrance  to  the  noon, 

She  had  meanings  rare  and  tender, 

She  had  duties  for  your  splendor, 

As  she  cut  and  bound    you  for  the  sorrow-haunted 
room. 

Dewy,  dainty,  softly  fair, 
Berkeley  blossoms  ye  were  there, 

In  the  gilded  vases  smiling, 

All  the  long  sad  hours  beguiling, 
While  about  you  hovered,  seemly,  lost  words  from  a 
prayer. 


22  California  Sunshine. 

MAY,    1883. 

MAY,  thou  art  come  at  last, 
The  reign  of  clouds  is  past; 
No  more  the  chilling  wind 
So  rude  will  be,  unkind, 
And  shut  me  in  all  day, 
Thou'rt  come  at  last,  sweet  May. 

I've  looked  for  you  before, 
And  opened  blind  and  door, 
That  I  might  speak  you  fair, 
But  March  stood  frowning  there. 
But  now  once  more,  sweet  May, 
Your  smile  has  blessed  the  day. 

I  love  your  gentle  air, 

Your  shadows  warm  and  fair, 

Your  pale,  soft,  distant  skies, 

Your  tree-top  melodies. 

And  all  the  cloudless  day 

My  thought  is  yours,  sweet  May. 

0  May,  go  not  too  soon, 
Close  on  the  skirts  of  June, 
You  came  with  tardy  feet, 
So  transient  and  so  fleet 
Will  be  your  glad  bright  stay, 

1  pray  you  wait,  sweet  May. 


Voices  of  the   Year.  23 

O  linnet  singing  so, 

And  May,  you  cannot  know 

What  peace  your  charms  impart; 

Heart  songs  to  being  start, 

And  care  is  driven  away 

By  thy  return,  sweet  May. 


A  DECEMBER   WALK, 


A  BARREN  field,  a  treeless  plain; 

A  landscape  growing  green; 
A  hueless  sky,  a  distant  cry — 

A  lifeless,  voiceless  scene. 

A  pebble  path  on  fallow  soil ; 

A  step  of  noiseless  fall; 
A  stone,  a  clod,  the  starting  grass, 

A  dampness  over  all. 

No  blossoms,  daisy-eyed,  appear, 

No  songs  of  summer  pass; 
A  kill-deer,  lone,  brown-throated,  glides, 

Seeking  the  tender  grass. 

All  nature  sleeps,  to  dream,  perchance, 
In  visions  bright  and  sweet, 

What  time  the  restive  lover,  Spring, 
Will  amorous  tales  repeat. 


24  California  Sunshine. 

Then  will  her  heart  responsive  thrill, 
And,  waking  from  her  rest, 

Love's  magic  words  will  make  replies 
In  blossoms'on  her  breast 


LA  W  VERSUS  JUSTICE. 


A    SATIRE. 

SWEET  Justice  walking  out  one  day, 

A  miss  of  lovely  carriage, 
Was  met  by  Law,  who  loved  straightway, 

And  asked  her  hand  in  marriage. 

She  gave  assent  and  with  him  strayed 
Through  many  a  lover's  bower, 

Till  once  he  said,  "  My  pretty  maid, 
How  much  will  be  your  dower?" 

Fair  Justice  dropped  her  shining  eyes, 

And  trembled  with  emotion, 
And  said,  "Just  love,  my  noble  sir, 

And  thanks  will  be  my  portion." 

"  I  could  not  eat  such  stuff,"  he  cried, 

His  hand  in  parting  giving,' 
"And  with  my  hands  unto  you  tied, 

How  could  I  make  a  living  ?" 


Voices  of  the    Year.  25 

Forever  shrinking  in  the  woods 

Does  stricken  Justice  tarry, 
And  never  while  the  world  goes  round 

Will  Law  and  Justice  marry. 


SEPTEMBER  DA  VS. 


I  LIKE  these  low,  calm  days, 
These  far,  pale  reaches,  and  the  autumn  haze, 
That  o'er  the  distant  fields  comes  low  and  near 
To  shield  the  fading  glories  of  the  year. 

All  nature  lies  at  rest, 

And  labor's  tumult,  surging  from  her  breast, 
Has  swept  away  the  stifling  breath  of  care; 
A  peaceful  stillness  dreams  upon  the  air. 

There  is  a  calm  content, 
The  summer's  wearing  eagerness  is  spent. 
May  not  ambition  too  forsake  her  ways 
And  court  the  drowsy  genius  of  the  days? 

The  river's  tide  is  low; 
No  tender  grasses  by  the  high  banks  grow. 
The  birds  are  silent  in  the  shadows  deep, 
And  all  the  flowers  have  hid  away  in  sleep. 


26  California  Sunshine. 

But  there  are  forces  still; 

The  dusty  whirlwind  mounts  the  yellow  hill; 
Uncertain  gusts  of  wind%  sweep  here  and  there, 
While  misty  powers  rule  the  upper  air. 

We  well  may  wait  and  rest, 
The  zest  of  life  but  slumbers  in  the  breast; 
Strength  will  return,  and  shining  hope  impart 
A  force  and  courage  to  the  wakened  heart. 


IN  THE  BARLEY  FIELD. 

ALL  down  the  dewy  barley 

The  morning  calls  me  near, 
And  sweetening  every  moment, 

The  linnet's  song  I  hear. 
The  light  is  pure  and  silvery, 

The  warm-souled  poppy  blows; 
And  rich  about  my  pathway 

The  dewy  barley  grows. 

All  down  the  distant  meadow, 
In  stately,  jeweled  rows, 

Ten  thousand  banners  herald 
The  softest  wind  that  blows; 

The  light  is  pure  and  silvery, 
The  high  mist  sweeps  away, 


Voices  of  the   Year.  27 

The  lark  with  crystal  changes 
Keeps  ringing  up  the  day. 

Far  down  the  dreamy  meadow 

I  tread  the  tender  grass, 
And  breathe  the  broken  fragrance 

Exhaling  as  I  pass. 
The  air  is  pure  and  silvery, 

A  mirror  bright  and  still, 
Where  shine  the  flowered  reaches 

Across  the  clear-cut  hill. 

All  in  the  emerald  barley, 

Where  pearls  were  thickly  strewn, 
The  morning  hides  her  jewels 

Before  the  glance  of  noon. 
The  light  grows  warm  and  golden ; 

In  cool,  luxuriant  rows, 
Where  wait  the  tired  songsters, 

The  dewy  barley  grows. 


CLA  YTON. 

CONTRA   COSTA  COUNTY. 


FAIR  emerald  town!  a  jewel  placed 
Within  such  setting  rare! 

How  soft  thy  upland  breezes  sweep 
How  sweet  thy  crystal  air! 


28  California  Sunshine. 

The  ancient  mountain  loved  thee  well, 

And  gave  for  thy  repose 
His  fairest  vale,  where  grows. the  pine, 

And  blooms  the  mountain  rose. 

Dear  highland  village,  nestled  down 
Beneath  the  mountain's  heart, 

Thy  cherished  shades  are  lovelier  far 
Than  muffled  aisles  of  art. 

And  ne'er  upon  thy  beauteous  form 
The  chilling  snow-clouds  fall; 

The  myrtle's  bloom,  the  violet's  breath, 
Come  ever  at  thy  call. 

Thou  hast  no  changes,  heavenly  places, 

No  melancholy  hours, 
For  spring  has  claimed  thee  for  her  own 

And  wreathed  thy  year  with  flowers. 


-§- 


BIRD  OF  ART. 

A  LITTLE  singing  bird  of  art 

From  printed  page  took  sudden  start 

And  nestled  in  my  breast. 
A  thoughtful  verse  of  tuneful  rhyme, 


Voices  of  the    Year.  29 

A  gentle  chant,  in  perfect  time, 
A  melody  of  rest. 

A  little  rhythmic  bird  of  art 

Escaped  from  some  high-crowned  heart, 

A  pearl-winged,  singing  dove. 
It  brought  a  message  unto  me, 
In  rhyme  and  time  and  symphony, 

And  softly  sang  of  love. 

— 8 — 


A   CLEAR  DA  Y  IN  WINTER. 


THE  lark,  with  song  divine, 

Lifts  up  his  praises  to  the  winter  morn 
Because  the  golden  sun  once  more  doth  shine 

O'er  grassy  fields  by  windy  torrents  torn. 

The  sweet  and  calm  sunlight 

Calls  forth  his  triumph  loud, 
The  while  he  cleaveth  swift  with  new  delight 

Some  misty  skirt  of  night-exhausted  cloud. 

He  knows  full  well,  poor  lark, 

That  clouds  will  roll  amain, 
To  fling  across  the  green  their  shadows  dark 

And  flood  the  brimming  pools  with  splashing  rain. 


30  California  SunsJiine. 

Oh,  linger  long,  bright  day, 

That  hope  may  cleave  the  dark 
And  glorify  the  paths  all  dull  and  gray 

Where  once  my  soul  went  singing  like  the  lark. 


THE  SUMMER. 

THE  summer  wore  away, 
And  yet  we  idled  on  the  tented  green, 
Or  boated  inland  on  the  peaceful  stream, 

Divining,  day  by  day, 
Th'  unfolding  beauties  of  the  mingled  scene. 


-8- 


A  MOUNTAIN  SPRING. 

I  KNEEL,  as  kneels  before  a  shrine  a  soul 
All  worn  and  burdened  with  such  sins  as  roll 
Deep  torture  to  the  heart,  and  troubled  so 
Before  the  Immanuel  fountain  boweth  low. 
How  gray  my  garments  with  the  dust!     My  feet 
How  burned  and  weary  with  the  wayside  heat ! 
With  dust  upon  my  brow  I  cry,  "  Unclean," 
And  lave  my  heated  hands  beneath  the  stream; 
A  mountain  spring,  cool-crystaled  to  the  brink, 


Voices  of  the   Year,  3 1 

And  flinging  jets  of  diamonds  as  I  drink, 

And  circled  round  by  green,  wide-polished  leaves. 

With  low-boughed  hazels  and  tall  cedar  trees, 

An  altar  perfected  in  nature's  love 

By  unsealed  fountains  from  the  heights  above, 

The  music  of  the  place  in  sacred  tones, 

Soft  measures  keep  upon  the  granite  stones; 

Calm,  holy  symphonies  to  being  start, 

And  make  sweet  pleading  to  my  weary  heart. 

The  water,  shade,  the  scarlet  flowers  that  blow, 

Bright  shafts  of  gladness  to  my  being  throw; 

I  rise  baptized  with  coolness  and  with  rest, 

And  pluck  the  scarlet  blossoms  for  my  breast. 


-8- 


WHY  SING  OF    YOUTH. 


WHY  do  ye  sing  of  youth  ? 
Such  times  were  sweet  in  truth, 

But  why  go  singing  all  the  working  day 
For  what  will  not  return? 
Those  loves  for  which  ye  yearn 

Will  never  from  their  dusky  pathway  stray. 

In  vain  to  call  and  sigh, 
For  they  will  ne'er  reply 

Who  underneath  the  grass  or  marble  sleep; 


32  California  Sunshine. 

And  some  who  love  you  not, 
Your  very  name  forgot, 

They  would  not  listen,-  could  they  hear  you  weep. 

All  through  the  shining  spring. 
When  birds,  rejoicing,  sing, 

I  hear  ye  singing  in  your  hedged  lane 
For  golden-tinted  dreams, 
For  those  old  ways  and  scenes, 

While  memory's  tears  are  falling  as  the  rain. 

Dear  friends,  my  power  is  weak 
To  touch  your  heart  or  speak 

Of  all  the  sweet,  bright  things  that  crowd  your  way 
E'en  though  your  nerve  powers  -feta^-  fa^ic 
E'en  though  your  brow  is  pale 

And  over-hung  with  locks  of  silver  grey. 

Dost  hear  the  lark  sing  loud  ? 
Dost  see  that  gilt-edged  cloud  ? 

Dost  feel  the  breath  of  spring  upon  your  cheek  ? 
Dost  love  no  more  the  stars 
In  rank-Jike  golden  bars, 

That  something  of  the  Heaven  beyond  bespeak  ? 

And  love  is  not  gone  by; 
There's  many  reaching  high 

To  win  your  heart  or  clasp  your  quiet  hand. 
You  cannot  be  too  old 
To  rescue  from  the  cold 

Some  weary  one,  wave-driven  from  the  strand. 


Voices  of  the    Year.  33 

Why,  what  is  every  year 
Which  you  so  sadly  fear, 

But  one  more  harvest,  bearing  sheaves  of  truth  ? 
For  all  the  gold  of  age, 
For  wisdom's  precious  page, 

What  could  you  take  from  festive,  giddy  youth  ? 

There  is  a  calm  content, 
There  is  a  fever  spent, 

Mad  passion  neath  the  hand  of  peace  is  mute. 
Why  sing  of  youth  at  all, 
When  leaves  about  us  fall, 

Down  dropping  from  the  laden  boughs  of  fruit? 

§ 


CLOUDS  OF  APRIL. 


APRIL  showers  floating  by, 
Bank  on  bank  of  clouds  rolled  high, 
Let  your  hurried  masses  lower, 
Thirsty  fields  your  love  implore, 
Leaves  and  blossoms  bid  you  come, 
April  clouds,  no  longer  roam. 

Heavy  hosts  with  silver  wings, 
Anxious  thought  your  fleeting  brings, 
Beauteous  clouds,  why  eastward  speed  ? 
Tarry  to  our  waiting  need. 
Come,  o'er-weep  us,  clouds  above, 
Low  encircle  us  with  love. 
3 


34  California  Sunshine, 

Let  us  feel  your  throbbing  heart ; 
Passion's  fullness  o'er  us  part 
Earth  invites  you  to  her  breast, 
Clouds,  wind-blown  across  the  west; 
April  showers,  pass  not  all, 
Let  your  benedictions  fall. 


THE  LIL  Y  CUP. 


[Written  for  Donna  Winning.] 

'TWAS  a  child's  face  there  upturned, 
With  a  purity  unharmed ; 

Eyes,  Madonna-like  and  fair, 
Such  as  bore  unto  me  faintly 
Thoughts  of  faces  "  shrined  saintly  " 

In  the  sayings  of  a  prayer. 

'Twas  a  child's  face  sweetly  wrought 
Into  lines  of  older  thought; 

And  its  innocence  and  grace 
Bade  me  tarry  from  the  thronging, 
Bowed  me  with  a  tender  longing- 
Made  an  altar  of  the  place. 

Sinless  lips  were  pressed  to  mine 
At  this  holy  wayside  shrine; 

Then  more  swiftly  sped  my  feet, 


Voices  of  the    Year.  35 

For  this  child-face  looking  up 
Like  a  pure-leaved  lily-cup, 

Had  rebuked  my  heart's  deceit. 


ARBOR  DA  Y. 

O  YE  hills,  scarred  with  mines,  desolated  ! 

0  ye  vast,  shadeless  valleys  of  wheat! 
Hear  ye  the  great  words  of  the  poet  ? 

Western  winds,  speed  away,  and  repeat, 

To  the  bared,  wasted  slopes  of  Sierra, 
"  Ye  shall  yet  in  your  childen  be  blessed, 
For  the  signals  of  hope  will  be  lifted 
On  the  mist-laden  hills  of  the  West." 

Arbor  day  !  arbor  day  !  God  be  with  us  ! 

1  see  the  green  banners  draw  near, 
And  the  rivers  long  hid  in  the  mountains 

In  their  old  stony  pathways  appear. 

Arbor  day  in  the  old  El  Dorados  ! 

Whose  birthright  of  beauty  was  sold 
When  the  forests  that  leaned  to  the  rivers 

Made  way  for  the  triumphs  of  gold. 

Arbor  day  in  the  wide  rolling  valleys  ! 
Where  the  rivers  run  silent  and  deep; 


36  California  Suns/tine. 

Where  the  sway  of  the  conquering  plowshare, 
The  grove  and  the  hedge-row  will  keep. 

Arbor  day  on  the  hills  looking  seaward  ! 

Arbor  day  by  the  shimmering  bay, 
And  the  forest-bound  heights  by  the  ocean 

The  breath  of  the  tempest  will  stay. 

Arbor  clay  for  the  land  of  my  childhood  ! 

Let  the  child  arms  their  offerings  lend. 
For  down  the  green  paths  of  the  future 

I  see  the  fair  children  descend. 

Shout  aloud,  all  ye  long,  barren  ridges  ! 

Sing  for  joy,  oh,  my  desolate  plain! 
'Tis  the  chant  of  the  South  Wind  proclaiming 

The  coming  and  love  of  the  rain. 

« 


MY  SOUTH  WIND. 


STEADILY  blow,  my  Wind,  steadily,  oh, 

Faithfully,  faithfully  blow, 
Up  with  a  will  to  the  mountain  so  still, 

Over  the  meadows  below. 

My  South  Wind  late,  thy  speeding  we  wait, 
And  the  high-piled  clouds  you  keep 


Voices  of  the    Year.  37 

Marshaled  afar  where  the  Rain  Kings  are, 
Away  on  the  measureless  deep. 

Oh,  proud  and  strong,  like  an  ocean  song, 

Steadily,  haughtily  blow; 
And  over  the  air  now  mute  with  a  prayer, 

An  anthem  of  raining  throw. 

My  South  Wind  brave,  speed  up  from  the  wave 

Each  weary  and  passionate  cloud, 
To  weep  out  its  pain  on  thy  breast  with  rain, 

My  comforter,  crowned  and  proud. 

My  Ruler,  my  King,  come  in  triumph  and  bring 

The  hope  of  your  heart,  my  love, 
Chanting  the  strain  of  the  on-coming  rain 

Borne  on  thy  pinions  above. 


A   DECEMBER    DAY. 


WHEN  the  morning  mists  are  rising, 
And  the  fog  has  cleared  away, 

Over  all  the  emerald  meadows 
Comes  my  clear  and  perfect  day. 

Oh,  the  dawning  of  the  sunbeams 

Through  the  thin  and  breaking  mist  ! 


38  California  Sunshine. 

Oh,  the  lifting  of  the  mountains, 
By  the  golden  heralds  kissed. 

Goes  the  pure  and  gentle  morning, 

Azure-robed  and  crystal-crowned, 
While  the  jewels  in  the  grasses 

Hedge  her  queenly  progress  round; 
Hedge  and  hold  her,  brightly  fold  her, 

As  she  slowly  fades  away, 
Then  again  in  grassy  shadows 

Hide  before  the  amorous  day. 

Wide  and  clear  the  noon-time  groweth, 

Songless  birds  on  grey  wings  pass, 
While  the  soul  of  singing  Spring-time, 

Waits  and  listens  in  the  grass; 
Waits  and  listens  for  the  chiming 

Of  the  bells  beyond  the  blue, 
For  they  only  know  the  passing 

Of  the  Old  Year  into  New. 

Nay,  'tis  not  the  bleak  December ; 

Tis  a  green  and  growing  clime, 
And  the  Angel  of  the  seasons 

Keeps  the  passing  of  the  time. 
Smiling  brightly  he  has  written, 

In  the  book  of  seasons  told, 
In  the  golden  West  the  New  Year 

Is  no  gladder  than  the  Old. 


Voices  of  the    Year.  39 

A  PEAR  TREE  ON  AUBURN  RAVINE. 


PRIDE  of  the  morning  !   Joy  of  the  sun  ! 
Regal-crowned,  magnificent  one  ! 
Burdened  with  odorous  bloom,  and  bright 
As  a  bride  in  her  shimmering  jewels  of  light, 
Thou  wilt  gladden  the  sun-burnished  noon, 
My  radiant  pear  tree  abloom. 

Proud  is  the  wayside  !    Rare  is  the  day 

Where  thou  stand'st  in  thy  snow-white  array; 

Skylarks  with  quivering  breasts  take  wing, 

All  their  triumph  and  joy  on  thy  high  boughs  to  sing, 

Branches  with  wing-weary  bees  all  atune, 

My  radiant  pear  tree  abloom. 

Winged  with  new  promises,  Angel  of  Spring, 

All  the  hills  their  allegiance  bring, 

Burdened  with  bloom — so  be  burdened,  bright  tree, 

With  the  hope  and  the  trust  that  awaiteth  on  thee — 

Thou  the  bride,  all  the  valley  the  groom, 

My  radiant  pear  tree  abloom. 

-s- 

THE.  GOLDEN  SPIKE. 


[Read  before  the  Oregon  State  Grange.] 

BRING  here  the  golden  spike! 
The  sunny  empires  by  the  Western  sea 
Shall  drive  the  bolt  that  seals  their  unity. 


4O  California    Sunshine. 

The  far  Northwest  draws  near, 
The  distant  South  is  here, 
The  white  Cascades  look  down 
To  busy  field  and  town ; 
The  harvest-field  is  white! 
The  sounding  rails  unite! 
The  pulse  of  com  mere  struggles  to  be  free 
Above  the  golden  spike. 

Bring  here  the  golden  spike! 
Let  North  and   South  clasp  hands,  turn  face   to 

face, 
Their  new-born  star  of  destiny  to  trace. 

Great  deeds  to  action  start, 

Strength  moves  from  heart  to  heart, 

The  quickened  blood  transfused 

Finds  channels  all  unused, 

And  weakness  leaps  to  might; 

Drive  here  the  golden  spike 
That  frees  the  giant  struggling  in  his  place, 

With  new-found  worlds  in  sight. 

The  golden  spike  is  in; 

The  driving  steam  is  waiting  for  command; 
The  lofty  mountains  with  their  forests  stand  ; 

The  quarries  yield  their  store, 

The  mines  their  glittering  ore, 

The  lands  of  golden  grain, 

The  lands  of  summer  rain, 


Voices  of  the    Year.  41 

Bright  as  eternal  spring, 
Their  teeming  harvests  bring 
Unto  the  rugged  servant  of  the  land — 
The  iron-sceptered  king. 

New  worlds  to  prove  in  sight! 
Clasp  hands,  and  forward  is  the  watchward  now; 
Forward  the  armies  of  the  conquering  plow; 

For  victory  over  death, 

Over  the  dry  wind's  breath, 

Over  all  things  that  hold 

The  earth  from  its  hundred-fold. 

Over  dearth  and  blight, 

The  hoar-frost  in  the  night; 
Forward  the  plow,  that  turns  the  desert  wild 

To  garden  places,  where  the  prattling  child 

Is  herald  of  God's  might. 

Bring  here  the  golden  spike! 
The  sunny  empires  by  the  Western  sea 
Shall  know  the  bond  that  seals  their  unity; 

The  faith  of  mind  in  mind, 

The  trust  of  human  kind, 

The  laws  of  brotherhood,     • 

All  bonds  for  human  good, 

The  golden  rule,  bedight 

With  heavenly  love  and  light; 
Thy  willful  deed,  thy  neighbor's  deed  shall  be ; 

This  is  the  golden  spike! 


42  California  Sunshine, 

There  is  a  golden  spike 
Joining  the  nobler  lines  of  human  thought, 
Whereby  the  best  by  feebler  need  is  sought. 

The  highest  culture  proves, 

The  power  of  mind  to  move 

Beyond  old  lines.     God's  will 

Is  change  and  action  still. 

If  Justice,  Love,  and  Right 

Their  powerful  bonds  unite, 
What  iron  ways  of  progress  shall  be  wrought, 

Joined  with  the  golden  spike. 

Set  here  the  golden  spike — 

Whereby  all  men  in  equal  glory  stand ; 

Whereby  great  thoughts  shall  move  across  the 

land. 

Let  Christian  thought  be  freed 
Its  sun-bright  life  to  lead. 
Turn  face,  great  Oregon, 
Give  golden  grace  for  grace, 
With  new-found  worlds  in  sight, 
For  God,  and  home,  and  right, 

To  California  give  your  warm,  strong  hand, 
And  drive  the  "  Golden  Spike." 


I-JE 


VER3ITY 


1    ONSiN  JOiQUIN, 


ON  SAN  JOAQUIN. 


ON  San  Joaquin  !  on  San  Joaquin  ! 

How  rolls  the  tide  of  living  green  ! 

How  sweeps  the  wind  through  billowy  grain  ! 

How  falls  the  warm,  life-giving  rain ! 

O  San  Joaquin,  so  wide  and  free, 
How  swells  thy  distance  like  the  sea ! 
Soft  winds  that  love  thee  speed  away 
Far  o'er  the  immeasurable  realm  of  day. 

O  gentle  skies  so  blue  above, 
The  valley  of  my  liel  and  love, 
Thou'rt  ever  fair,  though  burnished  clear, 
Or  hung  with  rain  clouds  drooping  near. 

On  thy  horizon  far  and  fine, 
The  mountains  stand  in  dim  outline, 
Whence  rivers  slow  descend  to  keep 
Their  long,  strong  currents  to  the  deep. 

Oh,  toss  thy  billows,  San  Joaquin, 
Thy  lifted  waves  of  sunlit  green  ! 
Oh,  flowering  stretches  glow  and  shine, 
The  homage  of  my  heart  is  thine. 

(45) 


46  California  Sunshine. 

I  know  how  sweet  thy  mornings  rise, 
Uplifted  to  the  kindling  skies, 
With  misty  veil  all  fresh  and  fair 
Entangling  bird  songs  in  the  air. 

I  know  how  calm  thy  night  looks  down, 
Clear-visioned  in  her  radiant  crown, 
Whose  moonlight  all  the  distance  fills, 
And  trails  the  far-off  Western  hills. 

The  swaying  vine,  the  rustling  grain, 
The  blossoming  trees  spread  down  the  plain, 
The  bright  alfalfa  rolls  between 
Its  fragrant  meads  of  evergreen. 

On  San  Joaquin  !  on  San  Joaquin  ! 
The  world  thy  beauteous  tides  has  seen. 
The  circling  years  will  bring  to  thee 
A  famed  and  glorious  destiny. 

§ 


MOURNING  DOVE. 

BIRD  of  sad  tone, 
Smoothing  thy  purple  breast 
And  cooing  such  unrest 

To  slumberous  June, 


On  San  Joaquin.  47 

The  faintest  breath 
Of  violets  hasteth  by, 
And  on  thy  tremulous  sigh 

Fades  unto  death. 

A  quick-turned  head, 
A  breast  but  swelling  so 
As  if  its  burdened  woe 

Could  ne'er  be  said, 

Plain  mourning  bird, 
It  is  not  all  thine  own 
The  pain  of  this  sad  tone, 

So  plaintive  heard. 

Some  human  heart, 
Stricken  beyond  its  due, 
Bequeathed  such  fate  to  you, 

To  mourn  apart. 

I  ask  of  thee, 

Sweet  mourning  dove,  a  boon, 
To  pale,  thought-saddened  June, 

Give  sigh  for  me. 


THE   CROSS  ON   THE   ROCK. 

MARSH  CA&ON. 


I  KNOW  a  vale  where  clouds  of  grey 
O'er  hay-bound  hill-tops  idly  stray, 


48  California  Sunshine. 

And  shadows  from  each  rocky  steep 
In  long,  cool  grasses  idly  creep. 

Here  morning  hears  her  latest  call, 
Here  first  the  steps  of  evening  fall, 
Here  noon,  leaf-shadowed,  glimmers  clown, 
O'er  wind-swept  ridges  high  and  brown ; 

Here  stand  those  sturdy  oaken  trees, 
Loud  rustling  to  the  gusty  breeze, 
Their  old  gnarled  branches  lifted  high, 
The  pioneers  of  days  gone  by. 

A  crystal  stream  from  blue  hills  led. 
Goes  rippling  in  its  gravelly  bed, 
The  sky,  the  bridge,  the  willows  green, 
All  mirrored  in  its  peaceful  stream. 

Above  this  vale  where  shadows  lie 
All  day  between  the  earth  and  sky, 
A  jutting  rock,  seam-lined  and  grey, 
O'erlooks  the  tranquil,  silent  day. 

And  high  upon  its  moss-stained  wall, 
Where  flickering  shadows  on  it  fall, 
There  lies  a  cross  carved  true  and  deep, 
Bright  signet  of  the  ancient  steep. 

What  brave,  heroic,  long-lost  deeds, 
What  sunken  grave  beneath  the  weeds, 


On   San   Joaquin.  49 

Hath  record  in  this  carving  old 
Upon  this  rock  nowhere  is  told. 

The  hand  that  carved  it  now  is  dust, 
The  steel  long  since  was  given  to  rust; 
But  time's  swift  sorrows  are  not  thine, 
Sweet  altar  of  the  wildwood  shrine. 

And  this  we  know,  no  church  reared  high 
Lifts  holier  anthems  to  the  sky, 
Than  this  deep  vale  where  clouds  sweep  low, 
And  chanting  winds  through  green  aisles  blow. 


FOR  FRIENDS. 


I  GIVE  great  thanks  for  each  fair  gift 

That  grace  or  beauty  lends 
Unto  the  pathway  of  my  life, 

But  most  of  all  for  friends. 

I  will  give  thanks,  this  Day  of  Thanks, 
For  sunshine,  home,  and  health, 

For  love  of  all  things  pure  and  fair, 
For  nature's  beauteous  wealth. 

But  most  of  all  for  friends,  dear  Lord, 
Whose  honest  hands  I  take; 
4 


50  California  Sunshine. 

Who  give  me  trust,  who  keep  my  trust, 
Nor  kind  allegiance  break  ; 

Who,  through  my  goings  out  and  in, 

Mute  trustfulness  outreach; 
Nor  give  their  faith  for  etiquette 

Or  vagaries  of  speech; 

Whose  hearts  are  mine  unfaltering, 

Whose  doors  would  open  wide 
Should  hopes  and  health  and  competence 

Be  banished  from  my  side. 

My  friends,  here's  thanks,  this  Day  of  Thanks, 

And  here's  my  hand  in  token, 
And  never,  while  we  pray  God's  grace, 

May  hostile  words  be  spoken. 
Thanksgiving-day t  1882. 


THE  FLOATING  COBWEBS    OF  SAN  JOA- 
QUIN. 


COBWEBS,  drifting,  drifting, 
From  the  east  land  shifting, 

Drifting  far  as  human  eye  can  see, 
In  these  silken  gildings 
What  may  be  your  tidings, 

What  may  be  your  message  unto  me  ? 


On  San  Joaqnin. 

Going,  ever  going, 
Throwing,  slowly  throwing, 

Slender  silver  threads  from  field  to  town. 
On  the  dry  weeds  resting, 
Many  breezes  breasting, 

Are  the  fairies  weaving  earth  a  gown  ? 


Floating,  onward  floating, 
O'er  the  damp  clods  gloating, 

From  each  standing  straw  in  cables  hung, 
Forming  phantom  bridges 
From  the  ruts  and  ridges, 

Shining  bright  and  silvery  in  the  sun. 


Filmy  fairy,  spinning, 
On  your  downy  winging, 

Lightly,  softly,  touch  my  upheld  hands 
From  your  silken  gildings, 
Tell  to  me  your  tidings, 

Any  mysteries  from  unknown  lands. 


Cobwebs,  floating,  fleeting, 
You  have  wound  my  feet  in, 

From  your  lines  I  cannot  make  me  free 
May  be  there's  a  letter 
In  your  silken  fetter, 

He,  perchance,  will  telegraph  to  me. 


52  California  Sunshine. 

Silken  wires  a-glistening,   - 
As  I  wait  a-listening, 

At  these  lines  spread  shining  o'er  the  plain, 
I  will  make  a  guessing 
That  this  cobweb  meshing 

Means  the  coming  of  a  winter  rain. 

These  the  welcome  tidings 
In  these  silken  gildings, 

Soon  the  skies  their  gentle  gifts  will  yield, 
With  a  dripping  raining, 
With  a  sweet  refraining 

Of  showers  bending  o'er  the  fallow  field. 


THE  SPRING   STORM  ON   THE  SAN  JOA- 
QWN. 


TlIE  warning  thunder  leads  along  the  plain, 

And  falls  the  rain  in  floods, 
Laying  against  the  ground  the  swaths  of  grain; 

Veiling    the  hills  and  yon  slow-creeping  train. 

The  flooded  earth  drinks  water  everywhere; 

The  birds  their  coverts  seek, 
Leaving  their  singing  places,  beaten  there 

By  the  wind  sweeping  along  the  heavy  air. 


On  San  Joaquin.  53 

We  thought  to  hear  no  more  the  sound  of  rain, 

t> 

The  storm  wind  raging  wild, 
And  splashing  showers  flung  against  the  pane; 
But  now,  to  our  distrust,  descends  the  rain. 

It  beats  upon  the  roof  so  brown  and  old, 

The  eaves  run  trickling  streams; 
It  sinks  away  into  the  upturned  mould. 
In  wind,  and  rain,  and  warmth,  God's  gifts  unfold. 


SEEDING-TIME. 

UNDER  the  showers  of  grain  that  fall, 
Scattered  about  on  the  fallow  soil, 
Grovveth  the  grain  for  the  farmer's  hand, 
Licth  the  hope  of  the  furrowed  land, 
Fallcth  the  steps  of  an  unseen  fate- 
Fortune  or  failure  licth  in  wait. 

Whir,  whir,  whir,  goes  the  sowing  machine, 
Each  grain  drops  to  its  place  unseen. 
Is  the  mother  earth  in  a  loving  mood  ? 
Will  she  give  to  each  stray  seed  its  food  ? 
Will  it  ever  lack  for  warmth  or  love, 
Till  its  heavy  head  gives  thanks  above  ? 

Under  the  promise  the  earth  grows  green; 
Seed-time  and  harvest  shall  e'er  be  seen. 


54  California  Sunshine. 

The  dove  went  forth  on  its  mission  sent, 
Led  by  the  bow  o'er  the  waters  bent, 
The  promise  of  God  came  down  on  earth, 
As  the  faith  and  food  of  man  took  birth. 

Ready  and  steady  old  Tom  and  Dick 
Pull  on,  till  the  seed  grain  lieth  thick; 
The  squirrel  chirps  from  his  hilly  row, 
The  wild  geese  flying  circle  low, 
The  blackbirds  chattering  fly  again. 
Hunger  is  not  in  the  land  of  grain. 

Pattering,  pattering  like  the  rain, 
Falleth  the  showers  of  golden  grain; 
The  fanner  thinks  of  the  weeds  and  rain 
And  a  face  that  looks  from  the  window-pane. 
Oh,  many  a  dream  and  many  a  need 
Lies  in  the  showers  of  falling  seed. 


AFTER  DARK  ON  SAN  JOAQUIN. 


"COOKOO,  cookoo,"  sweet  bird, 
Out  in  the  barren  grain-fields  heard, 
I  wonder  who  are  you, 
In  modulations  sweet  and  true, 
Thus  calling  through  the  dark,  "  Cookoo." 


On  San  joaquin.  55 

Where  is  your  lonely  nest  ? 

What  thought  is  trembling  in  your  breast  ? 

What  color  is  the  throat 

That  gives  to  night  the  distant  note, 

Like  love  to  silence  broke? 

"  Cookoo,  cookoo,"  so  near, 

Hast  summoned  any  sweetheart  clear  ? 

I  wonder  who  you  are, 

Lone,  plaintive,  like  a  wandering  star, 

"  Cookoo,"  so  near,  so  far. 

"  Cookoo,"  my  brave  unknown; 

The  fields  are  wide  and  dry  and  lone, 

There's  dark  and  wind  and  dew, 

The  high  faint  starlight  struggling  through; 

Yet  still  sounds  sweet,  "  Cookoo." 

"  Cookoo,  cookoo,"  I  hear, 

Borne  through  the  silent  air,  so  clear. 

My  heart  has  lost  its  pain 

Thus  listening  to  the  calm  refrain, 

"  Cookoo,  cookoo,"  again. 

§ 


THE  OLD,  OLD  HOUSE. 


Oil,  'tis  an  old  brown  house 
Alone  with  the  wind  and  dust; 


56  California  Sunshine. 

Leaves  are  adrift  on  the  porch, 
The  lock,  it  is  locked  with  rust. 


We  will  enter  the  old,  old  house, 
Press  open  the  creaking  door; 

Hollow  echoes  the  tread 
"Of  steps  on  the  dusty  floor. 

The  bat,  disturbed  as  we  enter, 
Flics  from  his  darkened  domain; 

The  rat  is  prince  of  the  corners, 
The  spider,  king  of  the  pane. 

We  will  live  in  the  old,  old  house, 
Drive  out  the  silence  and  gloom, 

And  the  sounds  of  our  life  and  mirth 
Will  echo  from  room  to  room. 


A  pledge  to  the  old,  old  house, 
Banish  its  gloom  and  decay, 

And  under  its  time-worn  beams 
Welcome  the  joys  of  to-day. 

We  will  lighten  with  color  and  cheer 
Its  windows,  doorways,  and  halls; 

The  pictures  we  hallow  most  dear 

Will  smile  from  the  brightened  walls. 


On  San  Joaquin.  57 

Oh,  come  to  the  old,  old  house, 
New  hope  will  light  up  our  eyes! 

We  will  strive  as  we  furnish  and  gild 
To  take  a  new  lease  on  our  lives. 

Let  us  call  up  the  hopes  and  joys 

We  cherished  in  other  years; 
We  will  shut  from  the  house  the  gloom, 

Shut  from  our  prospects  the  fears. 

Tis  only  an  old,  brown  house, 

We'll  crowd  it  with  love-life  bright, 

And  the  courage  that  comes  with  faith 
Each  sorrowing  heart  will  light. 


GOD    FORGIVES. 


WHAT  if  tears  from  trembling  lids 

Burning  fall  upon  the  cheek  ? 
What  if  lips  with  sorrow  sealed 

Broken  words  forego  to  speak? 
What  if  harsh  words  sting  the  heart? 

What  if  lives  regret  to  live 
For  the  darkness  born  therein  ? 

It  behooves  us  to  forgive, 
God  forgives. 


58  California  Sunshine. 

What  if  dearest  hopes  are  strewn 

By  the  careless  hand  of  one? 
What  if  sorrow's  seeds  are  sown, 

Springing  cherished  buds  among  ? 
Ah,  the  sighs  we  cannot  speak ! 

Ah,  the  blows  we  dare  not  grieve  ! 
Ah,  the  wrongs  we  fear  to  weep  ! 

It  behooves  us  to  forgive, 
God  forgives. 

Who  docs  God  forgive?     Ah,  me  ! 

Many  a  sin  of  word  and  deed, 
Many  a  vain,  ungrateful  prayer, 

Many  a  base,  unholy  need. 
What  a  debt  hath  God  forgiven ! 

What  dumb  prayers  he  will  receive  ! 
And  for  love  of  Him  who  loves, 

It  behooves  us  to  forgive, 
God  forgives. 


CHARACTER. 

BUILD  up  thy  pyramid  higher. 
Each  step  thou  shalt  build  up  entire 
Will  show  to  thy  truth-seeking  eyes 
Life's  broader  horizons  and  skies. 


On  San  Joaquin  59 

WORKING  FAITH. 


A  BIRD  with  a  crimson-hued  breast, 
Up  in  the  eaves  in  a  place 
Exposed,  uncertain,  unsafe, 
Is  constructing  with  patience  his  nest. 

I  have  watched  it  with  trembling  and  fear, 
Lest  the  wind  and  storm  would  rend 
And  tear  from  my  beautiful  friend 
All  the  work  and  the  hope  of  the  year; 

But  the  bird  has  no  fear  of  his  own, 
He  twitters  without  and  within, 
He  evermore  tarries  to  sing 
As  he  carries  the  twigs  for  his  home. 

He  has  taught  me  a  beautiful  creed. 
Strength  I  would  gather  anew, 
1  would  be  caroling  too, 
If  I  trusted  in  God  for  each  need 

To  this  April-day  lesson  I  bow, 
Away  with  a  doubt  or  a  fear, 
Away  with  the  sigh  and  the  tear, 
Working  trust  is  sufficient  for  now. 

Do  not  gloomily,  moodily  say, 

Be  downcast,  be  anxious,  be  sad, 

We  should  be  hopeful  and  glad, 

We  should  laugh,  we  should  sing,  we  should  pray 


60  California   Suns J line. 

THREE  SISTERS. 


THREE  sisters  came  and  gave  their  hands  to  me; 
First  April,  changeful  sprite  of  gaiety, 
Then  May,  with  hasting  steps  and  riper  bloom, 
.Led  softly  in  her  rare,  pale  sister  June. 

And  each  brought  gifts  my  welcoming  to  meet; 
First  April  flung  her  jewels  at  my  feet; 
May,  smiling,  spread  her  gold-edged  clouds  above, 
But  June,  divincst  of  the  three,  brought  love. 

To  April,  many  a  careless  jest  I  tossed ; 
I  gave  to  May  the  blossoms  that  I  lost, 
But  unto  June,  beneath  the  oaken  tree, 
I  gave  the  sacred  thoughts  of  reverie. 


-8- 


WE  ARE   TOO  PROUD. 


WE  arc  too  proud,  alas  ! 

When  tears  fall  fast, 
On  friendship's  lap  to  rest  our  fevered  cheeks ; 

With  sad,  averted  eyes, 

We  fly  when  griefs  arise, 
Where  solitude  her  chilly  presence  keeps. 

The  morn  is  fair,  isx  sweet; 
"  Good-day,"  we  most  repeat ; 


On   San  Joaquin.  6 1 

Good  day,  good  day  to  us  and  all  our  friends. 

If  they  but  speak  us  fair, 

We  have  no  need  or  care 
What  keen-armed  agony  each  inner  temple  rends. 

O'er  deep,  great  woes  untold, 

We  drop  the  silent  fold 
Of  courtesy,  or  reticence,  or  pride; 

We  smile  into  each  face, 

And  strive  with  charming  grace 
To  win  some  whilom  friend  unto  our  side. 

Oh,  helpless  heart  of  men, 

How  little  do  ye  ken 
What  golden  fruit  a  little  trust  might  bear! 

Alas  !  we  are  too  proud 

Our  selfish  wants  to  crowd, 
Or  ask  of  passing  friends  a  pitying  care. 


THE  LARK'S  SONG. 


O  LARK!  why  do  you  sing  such  full,  glad  song 
This  winter  morn  ?     Such  trills  to  spring  belong. 
The  clouds  ride  fast  along  the  gloomy  sky, 
The  wind  in  misty  gusts  is  speeding  by; 
Because  the  morn  a  few  pale  beams  did  bring 
You  sit  and  chant  with  bursting  throat  of  spring. 


62  California  Sunshine. 

There  is  no  warmth  or  flowers  or  springing  grain; 
You  are  too  forward  with  your  gay  refrain. 
My  thoughts  are  heavy,  like  the  clouds  to-day, 
So  plume  yourself,  brown  bird,  and  dart  away. 

But  still  he  sings,  and  cuts  his  song  out  clear, 
As  if  he  tried  my  tuneless  heart  to  cheer. 
Would  I  could  learn  when  mortal  skies  are  dark 
To  chant  such  crystal,  ringing  songs,  O  lark! 


THE  OLD  MAN  OF  THE  MOUNTAIN. 


[In  Pine  Canon,  Mt.  Diablo,  there  is  a  pile  of  rock  on  the  summit  of 
a  high  cliff  hearing  an  exact  resemblance  to  a  bowed  old  man.  It  is 
called  the  "Mountain  Builder.''] 

WHAT  are  you  doing  there,  quaint  old  man, 
There  in  the  lead  of  the  rocky  van, 
Half-covered,  half-cloaked  with  the  cold  gray  stone, 
Keeping  your  watch  in  the  mountains  alone  ? 

What;  are  you  thinking  of,  bent  old  sage, 
Learned  of  years  and  crumbling  with  age? 
What  are  you  looking  for  there  in  the  mould, 
Waiting  and  watching  on,  careworn  and  old? 

Oh!  you  are  weary,  sad,  silent  old  man; 
You  sigh  for  the  end  of  your  life's  long  span, 


On  San  Joaquin.  63 

Wild,  ancient,  and  strange  is  the  life  you  have  led, 
As  the  ages  rolled  over  your  grey,  bowed  head. 

Weary  are  you  of  your  toil,  old  man, 

Builder  of  mountains  since  earth  began, 

Till  bound  by  the  ocean  and  burdened  by  care, 

Stone-browed  and  stone-armed,  rested  you  there. 

In  earth  is  your  form,  of  rock  is  your  head, 
Your  visage  is  cold  and  moss-grown  and  dead, 
Hut  I  ween  in  your  breast  is  a  heart  beating  warm, 
Hoping  and  praying  in  sunshine  and  storm. 

Think  on  us,  pray  for  us,  patient  old  man, 
Hope  for  us,  weep  for  our  sins  if  you  can. 
Think  of  the  earth  throng,  turbulent,  worn, 
Over  life's  misty,  dark  precipice  borne. 

Keep  patient,  old  man,  till  your  rock  life  shall  end, 
Till  the  trump  from  the  skies  shall  the  rock  ridges  rend> 
When  out  from  your  prison  your  glad  soul  shall  rise 
And  join  with  the  sages  and  saints  in  the  skies. 


MY  HERBARIUM. 

I  TOOK  my  book  of  faded  flowers 
With  leaflets  crisp  and  torn, 

And  stems  all  dry  and  desolate, 
That  once  sweet  bloom  had  borne. 


64  California  Sunshine. 

I  turned  these  pages,  rustling  soft 
With  frail  and  sere  decay. 

Alas !  from  every  spring-time  friend 
Sweet  life  had  passed  away. 

But  while  my  fingers  turned  the  leaves, 

My  mind  to  visions  bent, 
And  back  to  nature's  hours  of  bloom 

My  thoughts  in  perfume  went. 

I  saw  the  dead  to  life  returned, 
And  spring  its  memories  win. 

My  fancy  saw  them  not  as  now, 
But  what  they  once  had  been. 

This  rose  was  once  a  beauteous  thing, 
This  violet,  once  how  fair! 

The  meadow  once  with  rapture  bore 
These  flowerets  swaying  there. 

Each  cup  and  bell  and  daffodil 

A  history  doth  tell 
Of  summer  sun,  and  summer  songs — 

The  Master  giveth  well. 

And  every  flower  that  lieth  here, 
Though  met  by  death  so  soon, 

Has  reigned  among  its  dainty  peers, 
And  graced  the  court  of  June. 


On  San  Joaquin.  65 

These  lowly  herbs  a  lesson  teach — 

That  life  is  short  and  gay; 
And  strangers  often  at  our  graves 

Will  ask,  "  What  works  did  they  ?  " 

And  every  friend  that  loveth  much, 

And  every  jealous  one, 
Will  give  us  credit  after  death 

For  only  what  we've  done. 

So  God  in  Heaven,  when  we  shall  come 

To  ask  our  place  therein, 
Will  judge  what  heritage  to  give 

By  what  our  lives  have  been. 


€AST  OF  MOUNT  DIABLO. 

THE   NORTHER. 

STEADILY,  steadily,  cold,  so  cold, 
Frosty  and  sharp,  dreary  and  bold, 

Bloweth  the  strong  north  wind, 
Down  from  the. bleak  Sierras  blown — 
Throwing  a  blight  o'er  the  acres  sown, 

Cometh  the  fiend — north  wind. 
North  wind  bold,  hold,  hold, 

Stay  your  mighty  greed ! 
Kind  of  might,  blight,  blight, 

Follows  where  you  lead. 
5 


66  California  Sunshine. 

THE   WESTER. 

I  lew  fast  they  ride — the  clouds! 
How  swiftly  by  the  white-winged  legions  fly! 
The  west  wind  chills,  and  rolling  o'er  tlv:  hills 

Thick  fog  the  mountain  shrouds. 

The  sun  his  glory  hides; 

The  fields  look  dark;  no  more  the  song  of  lark- 
Strikes  merry  notes;  long  ranks  of  nimbus  float 

Aloncr  the  low  hill-sides. 

o 

The  creaking  shutters  mourn; 
The  windmill  whirls  convulsively;  there  curls 
Blue  smoke  about  the  caves,  until  it  leaves 

In  air,  wind-tossed  and  torn. 

FROM  THE  SOUTH. 
There's  a  warmer  touch  upon  my  hand; 

There's  a  kiss  on  my  mouth, 

From  the  heart  of  the  South; 
'Tis  the  dewy  breath  of  another  land. 

There's  a  trailing  mist  along  the  lane; 

There's  a  vow  and  a  sigh 

From  the  East  born  anigh, 
'Tis  the  vow  and  the  sigh  of  the  rain. 

Hark!  how  against  the  panes 
The  great  drops  dash  !  Now  quickly  raise  the  sash, 


On  San  Joaqnin.  67 

And  hear  how  sweet  the  murmuring  sounds  we  greet, 
For  now,  thank  God,  it  rains. 


§- 


LIKE  THE  RAIN. 

LIKE  an  arm  around  me  thrown,' 
As  I,  fainting,  fall  alone; 
Like  a  joyful  message  sent 
When  the  soul  with  grief  is  spent; 
Like  the  grasp  of  friendly  hand 
In  some  lonely  foreign  land; 
Like  to  any  sweet  surprise, 
Bringing  gladder  destinies, 
Is  the  sudden  fall  of  rain 
On  the  parched  and  suffering  grain. 

Like  the  kiss  of  peace  between 
Them  who  bitterness  have  seen; 
Like  the  swift-returning  breath 
Of  a  dear  one  saved  from  death; 
Like  the  glory  that  will  come 
After  victory  has  been  won; 
Like  the  lifting  of  the  soul, 
When  the  burdens  from  it  roll, 
Is  the  growing  of  the  grain 
After  God's  abundant  rain. 


68  California  Suns J line. 

HAND  IN  HAND    WITH  SORROW. 

O  FRIENDS,  so  careless  do  we  go, 

So  heedless  of  the  morrow, 
That  every  one  of  ye,  I  wist, 

Go  hand  in  hand  with  sorrow;. 

Oh,  list  ye,  how  the  papers  read  ! 

A  heart  goes  homeward  singing, 
But  from  the  threshold  wounded  sore 

The  dove  of  peace  goes  winging. 

Another  Eve  leaves  Paradise 

To  taste  forbidden  pleasure. 
Ah!  will  not  pain  be  weighed  to  her 

With  measure  unto  measure? 

A  man  who  in  the  pride  of  life 

To  justice  gave  no  heeding, 
Falls  by  a  brother's  wrathful  hand, 

His  heart's  blood  swiftly  bleeding. 

We  are  too  heedless  of  our  lives 
And  all  their  grave  transactions; 

Too  oft  the  fevered  dreams  we  live 
Give  way  to  sad  reactions. 

We  fail  to  garner  all-year  friends 
While  shines  the  sky  above  us ; 


On   San  Joaquin.  69 

And  lo!  when  crushing  storms  sweep  down 
We  have  no  friends  to  love  us. 

Oh!  strive,  dear  friends,  lest  we  should  fail, 

More  earnestness  to  borrow; 
Be  humble,  lest  ye  unawares 

Walk  hand  in  hand  with  sorrow. 


A   LITTLE  LOVING    WOMAN. 


Now,  who  will  come  when  I  am  faint, 
With  death's  approach  above  me, 

To  hold  my  hand  and  smooth  my  brow, 
And  cheer  the  ones  who  love  me? 

And  who  will  stand  beside  my  bed, 

The  while  her  heart  is  breaking, 
And  say  with  loving  words  to  them, 
"  'Tis  best  she  is  not  waking." 

And  who  will  place  white  flowers  about, 
To  make  the  sad  house  brighter, 

And  serve  with  gentle  step  and  hand 
That  sorrow's  gloom  be  lighter. 

I  know  right  well  she  is  the  one 
Who  comes  the  last  with  praising 

X 

UNIVERSITY  1 


yo  California  Suns J line. 

Who  most  for  earth's  sad  suffering  ones 
Her  helpful  voice  is  raising. 

You  know  her  well.     Oh,  every  one 
Has  such  a  friend  so  human, 

A  noon-tide  friend,  a  night-time  friend, 
A  li  tie  loving  woman. 


A  LESSON  OF   TRUST. 

Till-:  morning  dawns  so  radiant,  sweet,  and  clear 

No  one  would  think  the  night  had  been  so  drear, 

A  night  of  wakefulness  and  fitful  sleep, 

When  loud-voiced  clocks  the  long-drawn  vigils  keep; 

A  night  of  restlessness  to  young  and  old, 

A  night  of  sudden  sounds  and  gusts  of  cold, 

And  wailing  winds  creaking  about  the  eaves, — 

Such  night  as  in  its  empty  darkness  grieves 

For  the  sad  earth  within  its  silent  fold: 

Earth  many  sorrows  to  the  night  has  told. 

But  now  I  wake;  the  morn  is  calm  and  still, 
The  sunshine  smiling  on  the  window-sill; 
The  birds  float  singing  on  the  quiet  air, 
The  morning  joys  to  find  itself  so  fair. 
I  rise  ashamed  of  all  the  night's  unrest. 
Even  so,  when  sorrow  fills  the  trembling  breast, 
Forbear  with  doubt  and  pain  the  hours  to  spend, 
But,  trusting  God,  wait  calmly  to  the  end, 


On  San  Joaquin.  71 

GOLDEN  DA  VS. 


THESE  are  golden  days, 

And  all  the  yellow  distance  of  the  plain 
Has  veiled  beneath  a  low-hung,  purple  haze 

The  glory  of  its  grain. 

Summer's  calm  delight 

Waves  tremulous  along  the  distant  hill, 
Comes  gleaming  down  the  stream,  and  flecks  with  light 

The  shadows  wide  and  still. 

Low  is  the  chant  of  day; 

Time  passes  on  unmindful  of  its  hours, 
And  spring's  exultant  song  has  followed  away 

The  gay  and  changeful  flowers. 

The  rain-hung  zephyrs  wait 

While  the  ripe  grain  is  gathered  in  its  gold; 
The  weary  vine  lays  down  its  wealth  of  grapes, 

And  summer  weareth  old. 

Rest  is  in  the  air; 

Man  gathers  from  the  earth  his  just  increase, 
And  soon  shall  hush  the  sounds  of  hurrying  care 

Beneath  God's  ordered  peace. 

The  harvest  moon  is  bright; 

And  when  the  brilliant  day  wears  gray  and  old, 
The  waiting  radiance  showers  all  the  night 

With  silver  for  the  gold. 


72  California  Sunshine. 

THE  OAKS  OF  TULA  RE. 


Go  up  the  broad  valley,  the  far  land,  the  fair  land, 
Where  the  plain  stretches  on  like  a  slumbering  sea, 

Where  rivers  flow  down  from  high   mountains  snow- 
crowned, 
And  the  wind  seeks  the  desert  to  roam  and  be  free. 

Go  there  when  sweet  April  her  soft  showers  carry 

To  the  wonderful  grove  land,  the  oaks  of  Tulare. 

Go    there    in    bright   June    when    the   slow-creeping 

shadows, 

In  the  rank  meadow  grasses  lie  dewy  and  cool; 
The  boughs  all  attune  with  the  sky-larks  and  linnets, 
While  the  soft  winds  of  summer   the    leafy  courts 

rule. 

One  still  autumn  day  in  thy  green  aisles  to  tarry 
Is  forever  to  love  thee,  dear  oaks  of  Tulare. 

I  see  the  blue  sky  and  the  high  fretted  arches, 

And  the  moss-tangled  branches  all  knotted  and  gray; 

Fond  memory  pictures  the  calm,  sacred  places 

Where  I  waited  and  loitered  that  happy  June  day. 

While  Hope,  eager-winged  as  some  comforting  fairy, 

Is  alluring  me  back  to  the  oaks  of  Tulare. 

Great  oaks,  leading  up  to  the  steep,  sunny  hill-sides, 
Stretching  down  to  the  banks  of  the  slow,  winding 
stream, 


On  San  Joaquin.  73 

I  see  through  thy  vistas  the  homesteaJ,  the    cottage, 

And  the  pink-tinted  orchards  in  radiance  gleam. 
Some  day  may  I  rest  there,  long,  glad  years  to  tarry, 
In  my  wonderful  grove  land,  the  oaks  of  Tulare. 


THE  QUEEN, 

IMPASSIONED  day  has  gone, 

And  night  serene 
Her  star-bright  robe  assumes  in  soft  array, 

And  sits  a  queen, 
On  high,  lone  hills  uplifted  far  away. 


NONCHALANCE. 


OWLET,  nodding  thus  so  quaintly 
While  the  first  pale  star  gleams  faintly 

From  the  purple  sky, 
Pray,  what  think  you  of  my  roaming, 
As  I  pass  you  in  the  gloaming, 

Going  slowly  by? 

I  would  know  what  you  are  thinking 
With  your  wide-eyed,  steady  blinking, 
And  your  solemn  bow. 


74  California  Sunshine. 

You  have  guessed  my  secret  surely, 
Looking  sidewise  so  demurely. 
Ah,  I  wonder  how  ! 

I  had  thought  that  none  would  sec  me, 
As  I  walked  out  here  to  free  me 

From  the  parlor's  glare; 
For  I  love  the  gray  night  falling, 
And  the  noise  of  crickets  calling 

From  the  stubble  there. 

I  have  felt  subdued  and  routed, 
I  have  felt  my  courage  scouted, 

By  the  wicked  day. 
'Tvvas  for  solitude  and  grieving, 
And  to  meet  the  wide,  cool  evening 

That  I  came  this  way. 

But  you  sat  up  there  to  meet  me, 
And  kept  bowing  thus  to  greet  me, 

Looking  grave  and  wise. 
I've  no  doubt  you  have  a  heart  in 
All*  this  gloom  and  dusk,  and  darkcnini 

Of  the  summer  skies. 

And  your  air  is  so  supremely 
Quaint  and  odd,  with  no  unseemly 

Look  of  outward  pain, 
I  must  thank  you,  owlet,  surely; 
I'll  just  bow,  like  you,  demurely, 

If  chagrined  again. 


On  San  Joaquin.  75 

A   FIELD  LESSON. 


THE  fields  are  ripe  for  the  cutting, 

Growing  since  early  spring, 
While  we  to  the  summer's  fullness 

No  gifts  of  toil  can  bring. 

The  sickle  will  come  in  gladness, 

Felling  the  rich,  ripe  grain, 
While  lives  go  out  unfruitful, 

In  doubting,  fear,  and  pain. 

The  earth  yields  up  to  its  Maker — 

Lo  !  at  his  bidding  stands 
Ready  and  ripe  with  its  fruitage 

Gathered  by  needy  hands. 

No  doubt  takes  Jwld  of  tJie  river; 

No  scoffing  stops  tJie  shower; 
No  unbelief  in  its  fetters 

Takes  from  the  seed  its  poiver. 

The  wind  comes  up  from  the  South  land, 

Asking  not  whence  it  blows; 
There  falls  tree  seed,  unerring, 

From  each  wild  wind  that  blows. 

O  souls  that  bow  unto  nature, 
Loving  her  wondrous  ways, 


76  California   Suns] line. 

Learn  from  her  workings,  duty; 
Take  up  her  songs  of  praise. 

Praise  God  in  his  creations, 
Nor  doubt  your  years  away, 

Lest  the  fruits  of  your  life  be  lacking 
On  God's  great  harvest-day. 


HERE  LIES  AN  HONEST  MAN. 


"  ONE  dearly  loved  lies  here," 

They  say  with  grief, 
Who  knew  without  a  doubt  or  fear 
His  heart's  belief. 

One  noble,  generous,  true, 

So  say  his  peers; 

"  He  builded  better  than  he  knew" 
These  quiet  years. 

"  Here  lies  an  honest  man," 

Cry  all  the  town, 
Who  made  his  nobleness  a  ban 
To  keep  him  down. 

Who  loved  men's  eyes  to  blind,, 
Were  not  with  him; 


On  San  Joaquin.  77 

His  shining  soul  the  world  unkind 
Could  not  bedim. 

Beside  his  grave  they  bow 

Who  once  gave  hate; 
They  cannot  vilify  him  now; 

His  fame  is  great. 

"  Here  lies  an  honest  man," 

So  say  we  all. 

Command  a  kinglier  praise  who  can  ! 
This  covers  all. 


•8- 


THE  SUPREME    THOUGHT. 


AT  morn  when  the  air  is  fragrant, 

At  noon  when  the  heat  is  high, 
At  night  when  the  starry  wonders 

Mount  to  the  solemn  sky; 
At" morn  when  my  faith  is  strongest, 

At  noon  when  my  hope  is  clear, 
At  night  when  my  heart  is  trembling 

Under  its  load  of  fear, 
Thoughts  of  such  beautiful  presence 

Are  guarding  my  joy  and  pain, 
That  I  wait  for  their  welcome  coming 

As  flowers  await  the  rain.'"' 


78  California  Sunshine. 

And  the  thought  that  makes  all  thinking 

The  thought  that  is  all  in  all, 
Is  the  thought  that  all  creation 

Under  God's  eye  dotli  fall. 
•   The  earth  in  his  hand  he  holdeth, 

And  space  he  filleth  afar 
With  systems  of  suns  that  sparkle, 

Star  unto  gliding  star. 

He  teaches  the  laws  to  fear  him, 

He  marks  the  progress  of  time, 
He  gives  to  the  comet  its  ages 

To  go  on  its  pathway  sublime, 
He  teaches  the  birds  their  singing, 

He  writeth  his  name  on  high, 
And  paints  on  the  roadside  blossom 

The  hue  of  the  summer  sky. 

And  this  is  the  thought  that  checrcth, 

The  thought  that  is  all  in  all: 
Though  crowns  and  kingdoms  shall  tremble, 

His  promise  will  never  fall. 
And  though  it  is  fear  and  darkness, 

And  though  it  is  warmth  and  light, 
His  limitless  power  is  keeping 

Each  child  of  his  love  in  sight. 


IN  MEMORIAL 


IN  ME  MORI  AM. 


SALLIE  WYTHE  WILLIAMS. 
GOD  loved  her  so — ah!  well, 
Sweet  soul,  farewell 
We  would  not  say 
To  any  love  of  God:  nay,  nay. 

We  would  not  stay  the  love 

That  draws  above 

Those  honored  best, 

Elect  to  shine  upon  his  breast. 

God  needed  her.     'Tis  well; 
Dear  heart,  farewell ! 
Full  well  we  know 
Redeeming  love  has  willed  it  so. 

We  needed  her.     'Tis  best 

God  gives  her  rest, 

And  gives  to  eartli 

The  dower  of  her  perfect  worth. 

God  loved  her  most:  Amen ! 

Take  comfort  then, 

Sad,  stricken  home: 

Her  soul  triumphant  seeks  its  own. 

6  (81) 


82  California    Sunshine. 

CARRIE  CLIFFORD    \VEXK. 


[From  "  Life's  Highway,"  an  Alumni  poem.] 

AND  the  years  bear  us  on.     There's  a  message 

My  heart  would  deliver  to-night, 
From  a  soul  that  has  passed  from  the  highway 

To  the  beautiful  city  of  light. 
How  soon  on  the  heavenly  records 

The  sum  of  her  duty  was  told, 
The  first  through  our  gateway  of  garlands, 

The  first  through  the  gateway  of  gold. 

Dear,  dutiful  toiler!     Dear  sister  of  light ! 

Thy  name  and  thy  memory  sweet 
Shall  be  unto  me  on  the  highway  of  life 

A  light  and  a  guide  to  my  feet. 
And  out  of  the  brightness  she  leaneth  to-night, 

Her  soul's  admonition  I  hear. 
O  wandering  spirits  of  earth  !  life  is  short; 

Be  ready,  lest  He  shall  appear. 


A'  UK  Y  RICH  A  RDS  ON. 


[Died  at  Byron,  1887,  aged  two  years  and  eight  months.] 

BACK,  back,  cruel  fears ! 
Cease,  cease,  blinding  tears, 
Nor  flow  till  the  soul  is  asunder! 


In  Memoriam.  83 

Her  eyes  drooping  low, 
Her  breath  coming  slow, — 
Does  God  call  her  homeward,  I  wonder  ? 

Hush,  hush,  bleeding  hearts  ! 

The  life  tendril  parts; 
Hope  bursts  from  our  clinging  embraces; 

And  down  through  the  skies 

A  bright  legion  flies, 
Swift  winging  from  God's  holy  places. 

No,  no,  waiting  host; 

We  love  her  the  most; 
Come  take  from  our  midst  any  other. 

God's  mercy  seems  cold 

That  enwrapped  us  of  old. 
Has  God  ceased  to  pity,  sad  mother? 

See,  see,  at  the  throne 

Christ  standeth  alone, 
The  child  on  his  bosom  enfolden ! 

While,  lo !  on  her  brow, 

So  glorified  now, 
The  gleam  of  a  star  is  beholden. 

Yes,  yes;  God  is  wise; 

He  knows  we  will  rise 
By  the  strength  of  the  love  that   is  round   her. 

And  so  for  the  work 

Her  child  spirit  wrought 
Already  the  Father  has  crowned  her. 


84  California  Sunshine. 

Child  Ruby  is  dead; 

Her  child  spirit,  wed 
To  the  hopes  of  the  kingdom  immortal, 

Will  patiently  wait, 

And  watch  at  the  gate 
For  the  dear  ones  who  drift  to  the  portal. 

— 8 — 


CHILD  ARMS. 


[During  my  short  experience  in  teaching,  no  pupils  were  so  endeared 
to  me  as  those  of  my  primary  class  in  Dixon,  Solano  County.  In  the 
autumn  of  1876,  that  town  was  visited  by  diphtheria  in  its  most  fatal 
form,  and  many  of  the  school  children  were  its  victims.  There  is  no 
lament  that  will  give  any  conception  of  the  sorrow  of  the  stricken  town. 
The  following  amateur  lines  were  written  the  succeeding  spring,  and 
are  presented,  by  request,  without  change  or  revision.] 

DEAR  little  child  arms,  come  gather  about  me; 

Come  with  the  "warmth  of  your  loving  embrace;" 
Fling  off  the  shadows  that  darken  upon  me; 

Lay  thy  soft  touches  again  on  my  face. 

Dear  little  child  arms,  so  gentle  and  loving, 
Warmed  by  child  hearts  that  trusted  me  so, 

Come  in  your  whiteness  and  eager  caressing, 
Rescue  my  heart  from  its  breaking  and  woe. 

Loving,  white  child  arms,  I  call  for  you  vainly; 

Sorrow  has  covered  my  life  with  its  wave; 
Over  the  hills  where  the  sunset  is  golden, 

Child  arms  are  folded  and  cold  in  the  grave. 


In  Mentor iam.  85 

Precious  child  arms,  that  have  strengthened  me  often, 
Do  you  not  long  for  my  sorrow  to  cease  ? 

Come  from  your  silence  so  long  and  so  dreary, 
Lighten  rny  heart  with  your  touches  of  peace. 

Dear  little  child  arms  were  glad  in  the  spring-time, 
Tossing  the  blossoms  they  gave  for  my  love; 

Blossoms  have  withered,  and  sere  leaves  have  fallen, 
Child  arms  are  bearing  the  wreaths  up  above. 

Long  is  the  life  the  Death  Angel  has  left  us, 
Weary  the  world  with  its  changes  and  pain, 

Up  in  a  haven  of  glory  and  gladness, 

Child  arms  are  waiting  to  clasp  me  again. 


ON  THE  DBA  TH  OF  GERTRUDE  WELLING 
TON. 

[Preceptress  of  Napa  Collegiate  Institute.] 

SHINING  angels,  were  you  lonely 
That  you  came  and  took  her  only 

Whom  we  loved  ? 
Did  you  need  another  glory 
Bearing  on  the  old,  old  story, 

Up  above  ? 

Did  your  shining  ranks  lack  brightness, 
That  you  snatched  the  only  whiteness 
On  the  earth  ? 


86  California  Sunshine. 

As  you  bore  her  onward  sweeping, 
Were  you  sad  to  leave  us  weeping 
For  her  worth  ? 

Ah !  I  ween  the  hosts  came  thronging, 
When  the  spirits  brought  the  dawning 

Of  her  soul ! 

And  they  touched  the  gold  harps  lightly 
As  her  glowing  feet  sped  brightly 

To  their  goal. 

Crowning  angels,  cease  your  speaking, 
For  your  brightest  crown,  go  seeking 

For  her  head. 

Oh,  the  glowing  stars  there  burning, 
Of  her  pure  and  patient  earning! 

Blessed  dead  ! 

Friend,  disciple,  faithful  teacher,— 
All  our  sighing  cannot  reach  her, 

Loved  and  best. 

Think,  O  bursting  hearts  that  weep  her, 
Should  our  selfish  wishes  keep  her 

From  her  rest  ? 

Bless  the  kind  eyes,  dropped  so  meekly! 
Bless  the  dear  heart  loved  so  deeply, 

Strong  in  prayer. 
Meet  us  on  the  pearly  portal, 
Greet  us  on  the  streets  immorta; 

Over  there. 


MY  HANDS. 

WHAT  if  the  fickle  world  go  slow 

And  merit  wear  poor  raiment  ? 
What  if  the  noble  deeds  men  do 

Have  no  reward  or  payment  ? 
What  if  the  royal  road  to  wealth 

Has  ways  of  strange  contortion? 
Distrust  and  fear  clog  not  my  soul; 

These  hands  will  earn  my  portion. 

These  hands  can  earn  my  honest  bread, 

Without  a  friend  or  favor; 
And  little  cares  this  trusty  arm 

When  weak-souled  flatterers  waver; 
The  world  may  spurn  me  if  it  will, 

And  all  my  great  endeavor; 
But  still  my  soul  walks  proud  and  strong, 

And  these  brave  hands  toil  ever. 

I  fear  not  labor  and  its  ways, 

No  earthen  chain  can  bind  me; 
In  lethargy  of  slow  content, 

No  needful  day  will  find  me. 
There  is  a  time  of  patient  trust, 

A  time  for  sudden  springing, 
And  while  I  wait  the  hour  of  fate, 

I  bless  what  toil  is  bringing. 

(89) 


9O  California   Sunshine. 

Meanwhile,  if  sudden  turns  the  wheel, 

And  brings  me  sweet  promotion, 
From  wealth  and  honor,  fame  and  friends, 

I'll  claim  my  just  proportion. 
But  then  what  things  are  pure  and  true. 

God  every  day  is  giving; 
And  while  my  life  goes  calmly  on 

These  hands  will  earn  my  living. 


A    WALK. 


LET  me  alone  to  walk: 
I  want  to  see  God,  and  talk 
With  the  dun  cloud  moving  high, 
With  the  field-lark  darting  by, 
With  the  myriad  things  in  the  grain 
That  wake  and  live  since  the  rain; 
The  flowers  will  come  and  talk: 
Leave  me  alone  to  walk. 

« 

No,  it  is  not  too  far, 

Where  a  thousand  fancies  are, 

Born  of  the  motion  and  life, 

Of  the  flowers  and  grass  in  strife 

With  the  buffeting  wind.     Thought 

With  each  vigorous  step  is  inwrought 

The  winds  God's  messengers  are: 

No,  it  is  not  too  far, 


Moods.  9 1 

Leave  me  alone  to  walk: 
Unkind  you  were,  in  your  talk, 
To  charge  me  with  evil  design, 
To  charge  me  with  thought  malign. 
Life  is  as  frail  as  a  flower 
Born  in  a  windy  hour: 
Why  should  we  slander  and  mock  ? 
Leave  me  alone  to  walk. 

But  it  is  ever  so: 

Not  the  heart's  best  grace  we  know 

But  what  we  judge  to  be 

From  what  we  are  blind  to  see. 

We  are  seeing  the  rough,  hard  bur, 

Not  the  soul  within  astir. 

So,  pardon  my  deeds  in  your  talk, 

But  leave  me  alone  to  walk. 


THE  CALIFORNIA  LITERARY  AND  SCIEN 
TIFIC  CIRCLE. 


LISTEN!  did  you  hear  the  flowing 
Of  a  streamlet  gently  going, 

Flowing  through  our  thirsty  land  ? 
How  it  seeks  its  winding  courses, 
From  its  far-off  coastland  sources, 

Urged  by  some  divine  command  ! 


92  California  Suns/Line. 

O  Chautauqua  !   Holy  mother! 
Flows  this  stream  as  flows  no  other, 

From  thy  consecrated  heart. 
We  will  press  to  meet  it  yearning-; 
O  thou  stream  of  Christian  learning, 

Permeate  our  every  part  ! 

How  we  need  thee,  happy  river! 
In  thy  flowing,  flow  on  ever; 

Flood  us  with  thy  waves  divine. 
Lave  us  in  thy  wondrous  coolness, 
Source  of  every  earthly  fullness: 

Wisdom,  wisdom,  be  it  mine. 

Mark  you,  there  will  come  the  dawning 
Of  a  rare  and  fruitful  morning, 

All  our  humble  lives  among; 
Patient  lives  will  grow  more  saintly, 
Fires  of  evil  glow  more  faintly, 

Hearts  once  silent  find  a  tongue. 

Flowers  will  spring  o'er  pathways  lonely, 
Brought  and  watered  by  thee,  only, 

Christian  flood  of  life  and  light; 
And  the  children  wandering  sadly 
Through  their  barren  youth  will  gladly 

Tarry  where  thy  stream  is  bright. 

And  from  all  our  door-steps  lowly 
We  may  see  the  visions  holy 


Moods.  93 

That  we  never  hoped  to  find, — 
Visions  of  the  sunlit  mountains, 
Visions  of  the  tireless  fountains, 

That  are  in  the  land  of  mind. 


Every  science  leads  us  to  Him, 
Every  art  its  pathway  through  Him; 

History  writes  the  name  of  God. 
And  this  stream  in  channels  earthward, 
Going  on  will  bear  us  worthward, 

Upward,  upward  from  the  sod. 

While  the  Father,  looking  kindly 
On  his  subjects,  who  so  blindly 

Wander  in  the  ways  of  sin, 
Guards  this  stream  in  all  its  highways, 
Guides  it  through  its  many  byways, 

Guides  it  purified  to  Him. 


A  REGAL  LIFE. 


I  WOULD  that  I  were  brave 
To  do  aright  life's  little  deeds, 
That  no  one  ever  notes  or  heeds, 

But  seem  to  us  so  grave; 


94  California  Sunshine. 

Were  brave  enough  to  take 
A  portion  of  my  speeding  hours, 
A  bounty  from  my  thoughts  and  powers 

To  spend  for  others'  sake. 

I  would  that  I  were  strong, 
To  say  to  my  own  voice,  Be  still, 
Else  speak  no  careless  word  to  chill 

Some  better  heart  with  wrong. 

And  I  would  sit  with  pride; 
Or  else  deceit  will  take  her  place 
To  throw  a  curtain  o'er  my  face 

I  cannot  draw  aside. 

I  would  that  I  might  reign; 
Might  rule  the  kingdom  of  my  heart, 
That  not  an  evil  thought  could  start, 

To  scatter  words  of  pain. 

And  I  would  wear  a  crown; 
Yet  take  from  none  such  beauteous  right; 
Its  jewels  would  be  virtues  bright, 

Humility  my  gown. 

For  friends  who  with  me  stand 
I'd  have  the  noblest  of  my  race; 
Who'd  scorn  to  turn  a  changeful  face 

Or  give  a  traitorous  hand. 


Moods.  95 


A  courtly  peace  I'd  see, 
To  leave  no  gentle  deed  undone, 
Nor  hatred  feel  from  anyone,— 

Life's  splendid  equity. 


PRESCIENCE. 


I  WOKE  one  morn  with  hope  upon  my  heart, 
Borne  inward  by  some  influence  yet  unknown; 

Warm  strength  unloosed  sped  outward  to  my  hands, 
And  evil  doubt  seemed  moved  and  overthrown. 

Dark,  brooding  phantoms  from  my  soul  had  fled, 
And  far-faint  voices  softly  moved  to  sing; 

A  love  long  stilled  set  pallid  cheeks  all  red, 

And  then  I  knew, nor  looked  abroad,  'twas  Spring- 


§ 


THE  PASSING   OF  SPRING. 


UNDERNEATH  the  dew,  damp  grasses, 
Winter  grasses  rank  and  cold, 

Lies  the  soul  of  spring-time  sleeping, 
Breathing  lightly  through  the  mould. 

When,  erelong,  the  West  WTind  passes 
With  a  love-song  ages  old, 


g6  California  Sunshine. 

And  the  starry  flowers  leaping, 
Have  her  earth-born  passion  told, 

She  will  wake  and  stir  the  grasses, 
Wear  her  vesture  so  unrolled, 

Till  the  love-light  in  her  keeping 
Touches  all  the  green  with  gold. 


REPININGS. 


THERE  is  a  loneliness  in  life 

No  human  love  can  sever; 
Though  arm  is  linked  to  loving  arm, 

Thought  walks  alone  forever. 

There  is  a  path  that  each  must  tread 

Untrod  by  any  other; 
The  slender  thread  each  walking  weaves, 

Fate  cannot  join  together. 

The  thoughts  that  rise  to  touch  the  heart 

To  make  it  sighs  or  singing, 
Come  on  their  own  swift  pinions  spread, 

Life's  lonely  pathways  winging. 

We  look  in  the  loving  eyes  that  shine, 

Unspoken  things  discerning, 
And  wonder  then  if  look  meets  look 

With  yearning  unto  yearning. 


Moods.  97 

About  our  hearts  cold  mists  lie  close 

Like  peaks  in  cloudy  weather, 
And  souls  unknown,  unloved,  unfelt, 

Walk  life's  long  path  together. 

O  faith  in  death!  O  sweet  beyond! 

O  life  of  new  divining! 
How  bright  thy  gleamings  shine  afar, 

To  check  this  earth's  repining! 


THE     KNIGHT    OF     THE     NINETEENTH 
CENTUR  Y. 


TO  THOMAS  STEVENS. 


SIR  STEVENS  of  the  wheel! 
Thy  valorous  deeds  will  wake  the  ancient  lyre, 
Ten  thousand  maiden  hearts  to  love  inspire, 

Who,  dreaming  day  and  night, 

Will  see  the  silver  light, 
Streaming  in  danger  lands  behind  thy  tire! 

Knight  of  the  winged  steed! 
Dear  to  thy  native  land  are  all  thy  deeds; 
And  yet  most  dear  that  high  and  noble  creed 

That  spurns  the  burning  cup. 

How  art  thou  lifted  up, 

With  golden  shield  like  that  to  serve  thy  need ! 
7 


98  California  Sunshi  ne. 

God  speed  thcc,  noble  knight! 
I  pray  thy  safe  return  from  wild,  weird  lands  ; 
From  cold,  grim  mountains  and  the  desert  sands. 

Calm  is  the  Golden  Gate, 

Where  we  thy  entrance  wait, 
To  deck  thy  steed  and  thee  with  medal  bands. 


AGE  AND  'LOVE. 


Aoi'i  tarries  not  for  beauty; 
No  favors  cloth  he  seek ; 
But  drawing  near- 
Each  hurrying  year 
lie  snatches  roses  from  thy  fair,  fair  cheek. 

He  hcedeth  not  my  speaking, 
Nor  counsels  with  my  dread; 

I  fear  to  name 

His  fateful  claim, 
Or  see  his  touches  on  thy  gold-bright  head. 

But  all  is  well,  O  fond  heart! 
Love  keepeth  equal  pace, 
And  through  thy  tears 
And  through  my  fears 
He  holds  his  kisses  to  thy  pale,  pale  face. 


Moods.  9  9 

SOLITUDE. 


AND  now,  my  soul,  shut  out  the  worldly  smile, 

The  bold,  rude  laughter, 

And  sly  mocking  after, 
While  we  with  solitude  commune  a  while. 

And  in  this  cloister,  free  from  cruel  eyes, 

For  long  redression, 

We  will  make  confession 
Before  life's  holy  Priest  of  sacrifice. 

O  kind,  best  Comforter,  my  Priest  and  King, 

Before  thee,  kneeling, 

I  disguise  no  feeling; 
My  weakness,  pain,  humility,  I  bring. 

Make  penitence,  my  soul,  thy  need  is  great. 

Thy  strength  is  weakness, 

Thy  assurance,  meekness, 
LJnto  the  struggles  that  before  thee  wait. 

And,  yea,  make  penitence,  O  heart  of  mine, 
Confess  thy  yearning 
For  those  great  lights  burning, 

Those  stars  that  cannot  on  thy  pale  life  shine. 

Dear  Heart  of  solitude,  I  cling  to  thee; 
Such  warm  peace  folds  me, 
Such  calm  strength  upholds  me, 

A  gift  of  power  groweth  inwardly. 


ioo  California  Sunshine. 

My  soul  no  longer  sinks  beneath  its  pain; 
The  silences  grow  dearer, 
And  glimmering  nearer, 

The  long,  long  hopes  of  life  shine  out  again. 

And  every  olden  love  that  lingers  yet, 

With  sweet  intrusion, 

On  my  soul's  seclusion, 
Comes  softly  in  to  bid  me  not  forget. 

The  benediction  falls,  I  go  my  way; 

And,  musing  slowly, 

From  the  cloister  holy 
I  walk  the  aisles  that  lead  to  working  day. 


MY  FAITH. 


I  HAVE  such  faith  in  life 

That  I  could  walk  a  bleak  and  barren  hill, 

And  meadow  songs  the  silent  air  would  fill, 

Through  my  imagining  and  high  desire 

To  keep  heart  strong,  although  my  feet  may  tire. 

I  have  such  faith  that  autumn  shall  be  spring, 

If  I  would  have  it  so,  and  beauty  cling 

To  leafless  tree  or  barren  wind-swept  field. 

A  painted  blossom  will  old  fragrance  yield, 

And  by  my  faith  a  pictured  face  will  speak, 

And  bring  warm  blushes  to  my  pallid  check. 


Moods.  \  o  i 


I  have  such  faith  in  death 

That  I  could  leave  life's  promises  that  wait, 

And  pass  with  heart  expectant  through  the  gate. 

Faith  is  not  faith,  my  soul,  love  is  not  love, 

If  founded  not  on  faith  in  God  above. 

What  earnestness  I  have,  what  powers  I  keep, 

Would  not  lie  breathless  with  my  body's  sleep; 

Each  pale,  uncurtained  star  that  shines  for  me 

Will  dawn  resplendent  in  eternity; 

And  love  with  me  shall  rise,  when  fails  this  breath, 

To  some  high  Heaven  —  such  is  my  faith  in  death. 

-  §  - 


WINDOW  PLANTS. 


MY  window  plants  turn  to  the  sun, 
Reaching  out  every  one 
For  the  smiles  of  the  great  gold  face 
Thrown  down  through  the  limited  space. 

The  sun,  with  its  marvelous  grace, 
Wins  back  to  its  face 
Fach  branch  that  I  freedom  denied, 
And  turned  to  the  room  inside. 

And  the  rose  geranium,  pride 

Of  them  all,  at  its  side, 

Holds  high  wi-th  long  stems,  to  the  noon, 

Its  many-leaved  clusters  of  bloom. 


IO2  California  Suns /line. 

Turning  its  beautiful  rose-hued  bloom 
Away  from  the  low,  dark  room, 
To  the  strengthening,  beautiful  one, 
The  joy  of  the  morning,  the  sun. 

So  is  love  to  the  heart,  the  sun, 
Great,  glorious  one  ! 
Leading  up  and  out  of  the  night 
Life's  passionate  blossoms  of  light. 


PEACE. 


1  FEEL  the  tide  of  life  sweep  on; 
I  see  the  days  die  one  by  one; 
Youth  takes  his  garlands  and  is  gone, 
And  yet  I  am  content. 

I  see  toil  fling  its  hope  away, 
And  life  becomes  a  working  day, 
Where  courage  has  no  power  to  stay, 
And  yet  I  keep  my  peace. 

I  see  the  triumphs  I  would  wear 
Like  falling  stars  fade  into  air, 
Beyond  the  reach  of  toil  or  prayer, 
Yet  still  I  am  content. 

I  thought  to  gather  gorgeous  flowers 
To  glorify  my  rainy  hours; 


Moods.  1 03 

Alas!    they  lose  their  gladdening  powers, 
For  all   I  miss  them  not. 

I  see  the  heights  where  I  would  stand, 
To  view  the  vales  of  Beulah  land, 
By  dim,  immeasurable  distance  spanned, 
And  yet  I  weary  not. 

It  is  so  sweet  to  live  with  all, 
Though  tears  upon  our  failures  fall; 
High  hopes  and  triumphs  are  not  all, 
There  is  no  joy  but  peace. 

'Tis  toiling  for  the  after  rest, 
'Tis  deeming  present  joy  the  best, 
'Tis  finding  each  day  fair  and  blest, 
That  maketh  me  content. 


1  — 

MY  FATHER'S   HOUSE. 


As  I  toil  for  life's  treasures  and  blessings, 
And  am  fainting  of  labor  and  zest, 

Oh,  how  sweet  it  is  sometimes  to  tarry 
At  the  house  of  my  father  to  rest! 

To  forget  for  the  time  what  my  care  is, 
To  abandon  my  struggle  and  pain; 


1O4  California  Suns/line. 

And  to  sleep  'ncath  the  roof  of  my  father, 
While  I  dream  of  my  childhood  again ! 

What  a  feeling  of  safety  comes  o'er  me, 

As  father  is  locking  the  door! 
And  the  clock  he  is  winding  so  calmly 

Is  the  trusted  time-keeper  of  yore. 

It  is  value  to  value — the  world's  way— 
And  you  take  what  your  merits  receive; 

And  no  comrades  or  friends  give  the  welcome 
That  our  fathers  and  mothers  can  give, — 

While  each  chair,  and  each  couch,  and  each  comfort 
Seem  to  add  to  your  welcome  complete, 

And  you  fancy  that  all  things  are  striving 
To  rejoice  with  your  home-coming  feet. 

Oh,  the  fathomless  love  of  the  home  folks! 

It  restrains  us  wherever  we  roam, 
And  no  time  or  condition  can  shadow 

The  return  of  the  wanderer  home. 

* 
And  I  think,  when  life's  path  grows  a-weary, 

And  the  dews  of  the  night  on  me  lie, 
I  should  like  to  be  borne  through  the  gloaming 
To  the  house  of  my  father  to  die. 


Moods.  105 

THEN. 


[On  reading  "  Untimely  Thoughts,"  by  T.  P>.  Aldrich.] 
SHRINKING  at  the  thought  of  death,  dear? 
Grown  sad  in  this  comfort  and  cheer? 
As  if  death  were  something  to  fear? 

Why,  then  'twill  be  dark  like  the  night; 
These  gleams  will  have  faded  out  quite; 
You'll  pine  like  a  child  for  the  light. 

The  morn  will  be  gone  with  its  bloom  ; 
Forgotten  the  triumphs  of  noon; 
Night  comes  to  the  worn  none  too  soon. 

What  seemeth  so  fair  now  and  sweet 
Will  be  to  your  heart's  failing  beat 
Too  old,  like  a  dream  to  repeat. 

Your  life  like  the  seeds  will  be  old; 
From  the  dead,  dried  limb  to  the  mould 
You  will  fall,  not  fearing  the  cold. 

You'll  be  freeing  your  soul,  then,  of  sod; 
You'll  be  ncaring  the  pathway  untrocl  ; 
You'll  be  reaching  your  hands  up  to  God. 

We'll  be  glad,  it  seems  to  me,  dear, 
And  welcome  the  rest  of  the  bier, 
No  matter  what  clay  or  what  year. 


io6  California  Sunshine. 

A    PERFECT  LIFE. 


A  CHILDHOOD  unknowing  sorrow, 
Unfettered  by  creed  and  rule; 

Of  frolic  and  mirth  and  flowers 
A  childish  measure  full. 

A  youth  with  a  mother's  blessing, 
Making  it  glad  and  sweet, 

And  the  zest  of  a  new  ambition 
To  hasten  the  lagging  feet. 

A  strength'ning  of  will  and  purpose, 
A  walking  from  sin  apart, 

And  finding  that  toil  supplieth 

The  wants  of  the  hand  and  heart. 

A  summer  of  life  grown  tranquil, 
A  finding  of  love's  desire, 

A  gathering  of  friends  and  children 
Unto  the  household  fire. 

A  keeping  of  hope  untarnished, 
A  walking  in  humble  ways, 

And  leaving  the  heights  of  glory 
To  the  light  of  Heaven's  days. 

A  coming  of  deep  contentment, 
And  cherishing  first  and  best 


Moods.  107 


The  strong,  calm  trust  in  duty 
That  keepeth  the  heart  at  rest. 

The  speeding  of  autumn  gently, 
With  never  a  thought  of  tears; 

A  giving  to  God's  most  needy 
Thanks  for  the  fruitful  years. 

A  welcome  of  snow  soft  falling, 
With  a  snow-white  heart  within; 

And  a  winter  warmed  and  sheltered 
By  the  love  of  kith  and  kin. 


TO    ONE,  A  POET. 


WRITE  me  a  poem,  sweet  friend,  new  friend, 

Just  as  you'd  write  to  one 
Known  to  be  helpless  and  frail  and  weak, 

Fearing  the  noonday  sun. 

You  are  so  fearless  and  strong,  sweet  friend, 

True  to  your  shining  way, 
With  truth  for  the  true,  love  for  the  fair, 

And  songs  for  the  cloudy  day. 

Your  way  has  no  turning  to  doubt  and  grief; 
Firm  are  your  passing  feet 


io8  California  Sunshine. 

As  you  climb  with  flinging  of  flowers  away, 
The  blossoming  heights  you  seek. 

Write  me  a  poem,  brave  friend,  true  friend, 
Tuned  with  the  love  you  bear 

To  those  who  falter,  finding  with  pain 
Only  the  weeds  of  care. 

Make  it  a  frame-work  of  faith,  dear  friend, 

Faith  of  the  praying  heart; 
Ilaply  some  strength  on  its  verses  borne 

May  to  my  spirit  start. 

Make  it  all  shining  with  hope,  fair  hope, 

Sprung  from  a  heart  of  toil ; 
1  laply  a  gleam  of  your  lighted  lamp 

Onto  my  path  may  fall. 

Write  it  in  charity,  friend,  new  friend, 

Born  of  all  human  needs; 
Give  it  with  love  of  thy  poet's  heart, 

Sweetest  of  all  thy  creeds. 


COM  PA  N I  ON  SHI  P. 


TO  MARY  TRACY   MOTT. 

A  STAR  shot  out  of  heaven,  I  say, 
When  one  above,  apart, 


Moods.  1 09 


Came  near  to  me 
So  I  could  see 
The  beating  of  her  heart. 

A  star  shot  out  of  heaven  to-day; 
I  walked  the  earth  alone, 
When  she  to  me 
Dropped  sympathy, 
From  near  a  shining  throne. 

A  star  not  lost  or  cast  away; 
She  none  the  less  is  bright 

For  stooping  so 

To  me  below, 
All  trembling  for  her  light. 

A  star  came  down  to  me,  I  say; 

For  so,  indeed,  it  seemed, 
That  she,  a  friend, 
Should  kindness  lend, 

Of  which  I  once  but  dreamed. 


PRESSED     VIOLETS     IN    A      BORROWED 
CLASSIC 


WISE  "  old  heathen  "  who  were  living 

Twenty  centuries  ago, 
What  aromas  sweetly  modern 

From  your  tedious  pages  flow! 


iio  California  Sunshine. 

Breath  of  violets,  strangely  mingled 
With  Demosthenes  and  Greece; 

Arts  of  war  and  laws  Platonic, 
Hiding  these  shy  arts  of  peace. 

Friend,  I  see  you,  absent-minded, 
Turning  these  wise  pages  o'er, 

Leaving  here  for  safer  keeping 

Those  sweet  flowers  that  she  wore. 

None  would  search  here,  you  were  thinking, 

Or  would  seeing  understand, 
How  she  gave  them  you,  half  jesting, 

With  a  pressure  of  the  hand. 

Friend,  I  think  these  old  lawgivers 
Far  too  ponderous  for  my  mind; 

Thanks  for  leaving,  absent-minded, 
Something  I  could  read,  if  blind. 

I  have  pondered  truly,  deeply, 
What  the  wise  and  ancient  say, 

But  the  truest  thing  I  read  here 
Is  a  tale  of  yesterday. 


THE  MONTHLY  MAGAZINE. 


GOOD  friend  !  Good  friend!  Oh,  faithful  more  than  al 
Oh,  wise  and  rich-voiced  guest, 
Kind  champion  of  rest, 

Thrice  welcome  when  the  evening  shadows  fall  ! 


Moods.  1 1 1 

Days  may  be  dark,  and  nights  be  lacking  cheer, 

While  sullen  rain-clouds  beat 

The  garden  path  and  street; 
But  all  is  well,  warm  friend,  when  thou  art  near. 

Oh,  faithful  more  than  all!      They  are  not  so; 

A  little  heat  or  cold, 

A  little  thought  half-told, 
And  they  who  seemed  the  dearest  turn  and  go. 

Foes  have  not  turned  thee  from  my  lonely  door. 

Through  slanderous  darts  unkind, 

My  portals  still  you  find, 
Not  less  to  love  me,  but  to  serve  me  more. 

Thou  dost  for  me  a  hundred  heartaches  keep, 

Which,  told  to  other  friends, 

Would  serve  unseemly  ends, 
To  turn  again  and  rend  me  ere  I  sleep. 

Thou  canst  all  places  and  all  seasons  bless. 

E'en  to  the  couch  of  pain 

Thou  dost  admittance  gain, 
Offering  bright  fancies  to  forget  fulness. 

Most  courteous  guest,  oh,  welcome  more  than  all  ! 

Wise  watcher  of  my  care, 

Prince  of  the  study  chair, 
Thrice  welcome  when  the  evening  shadows  fall ! 


112  California  Sunshine. 

CUPID  CLIPPED. 


POOR  love,  he  wasn't  quite  resigned 

To  like  our  humb  e  ways, 
On  cottage  faith  and  cottage  fare 

To  spend  his  golden  clays. 
He  liked  not  well  the  daily  toil, 

He  magnified  our  needs, 
And  made  me  wear  uneasy  care 

By  his  capricious  deeds. 

Poor  little,  willful,  winged  boy! 

He  longed  for  ease  and  art, 
And  shot,  unseen,  ambitions  keen 

To  lacerate  my  heart. 
He  begged  for  jewels  numberless, 

Soft  luxuries  a  host, 
And  put  to  flight  both  day  and  night 

The  peace  I  treasured  most. 

He  poised  before  the  open  door, 

He  fluttered  at  the  pane, 
As  if  to  try  the  windy  sky 

And  ne'er  come  back  again. 
He  saw  the  crimson  clouds  above, 

He  spurned  my  offerings; 
What  could  I  do?     His  flight  I'd  rue, 

And  so  I  clipped  his  wings. 


Moods.  \  1 3 


Hf  must  not  sigh,  dear,  foolish  boy, 

For  bric-a-brac  and  toys; 
Nor  let  a  prayer  for  paintings  rare 

Destroy  our  cottage  joys. 
He  must  descend  to  lowly  wants 

And  common  work-day  things. 
For  fancies  spent  and  discontent, 

Poor  boy !  I  clipped  his  wings. 


And  now  he  seemeth  quite  content 

To  brew  the  foaming  yeast; 
To  knead  and  bake,  and  strive  to  make 

Each  homely  meal  a  feast. 
He  sweeps  the  room  with  loving  will, 

To  keep  it  warm  and  bright, 
And  cottage  chairs  and  cottage  wares 

Are  bathed  in  rosy  light. 


'Tis  better  so;  for  drear  indeed 

The  cottage  hall  would  be 
If  love  were  sped  and  beauty  fled 

From  life's  simplicity. 
Low  life  can  be  both  grand  and  good, 

And  cottagers  be  kings, 
Though  oft  we  must  to  keep  our  trust, 

Sweet  Cupid,  clip  his  wings. 

8 


i  14  California  Sunshine. 

THE  NEED. 


I  LOVE  the  cold,  strong  air, 
The  rain  on  my  face  and  hair, 
For  my  cheeks  well  need,  you  see, 
The  roses  they  leave  with  me. 

I  say  that -I  do  not  mind 
The  word  and  reproof  unkind 
If  they  teach  me  better  things 
Than  my  vain  imaginings. 


HIGH  NOON. 


WHAT  if  thy  life, 
Now  coming  to  its  prime, 

Should  gladden  in  its  strength, 

And  prove  more  rich  and  sweet 
Than  all  youth's  promise-time  ! 

What  if  high  noon, 
With  light  serene  and  fine, 
Should  glorify  life's  length, 

And  show  thee  made  complete: 
Life's  best  in  its  decline. 


Moods.  1 1 5 

NA  Y,  NOT  WIND. 


BABY  died  long  ago, 

Ere  life's  star  went  sinking  low. 

Then  love's  gladness  made  me  strong, 
Made  my  life  a  morning  song. 

He,  my  king,  my  trust,  my  pride, 
Led  me,  clinging,  glorified. 

But  all  that  has  faded  slow, 
All  the  anguish  and  the  woe ; 

And  she  is  dead,  whose  form  and  face 
Lured  him  from  my  plainer  grace. 

My  wifehood  spurned,  love  turned  to  hate, 
And  my  life  grew  desolate, 

As  the  winter  fields  of  snow ; 
But  all  that  was  long  ago. 

No,  no,  friend,  there  is  no  pain, 
As  I  breathe  these  airs  again. 

What  was  that  upon  my  lips  ? 
At  my  throat  light  finger-tips! 

Something  on  my  cold  cheek  pressed, 
Something  lay  upon  my  breast! 


Ii6  California  Sunshine. 

Nay,  'twas  not  the  warm  sunshine 
Thrilling  to  my  heart  like  wine. 

Nay,  'twas  not  the  west  wind's  pace; 
Silken  ringlets  touched  my  face; 

Silken  ringlets,  soft  and  fair, 
Touched  me  in  the  empty  air. 

On  the  west  wind  from  the  plain, 
Came  my  baby's  arms  again ! 

Ah.  these  hot,  impetuous  tears! 
Such  I  have  not  shed  for  years. 

Naught  on  earth  could  move  me  so: 
Baby  died  long  ago. 


PLOWING  UNDER  THE  FLOWERS. 


PLOUGHING  under  the  flowers, 
Wet  by  the  midnight  showers, 

Turning  them  over  and  under, 
My  beautiful,  beautiful  flowers. 

Every  bright  face  turned  over, 
Smiling  down  in  the  clover; 


Moods.  1 1 7 

Feet  of  the  horses  and  plowman 

First  crushing  and  trampling  them  over. 

Cream  and  crimson  and  yellow, 

Into  the  furrow  mellow, 
Covered  with  clods  damp  and  broken, — 

Sweet  crimson  and  purple  and  yellow. 

Witness  the  death  of  the  flowers, 

Giving  the  earth  new  powers; 
Sacrificed,  slain  for  their  country, 

My  beautiful,  beautiful  flowers. 


A    DROP    OF  FAITH. 


I  KNEW  the  blessed  rain  was  sure  to  fall, 

I  knew  the  needy  land 

Was  under  his  command; 
I  knew  the  Lord  was  thinking  of  us  all. 

I  knew  the  drying  hills  would  soon  be  wound 
By  clouds  of  low-hung  mist, 
And  drooping  flowers  be  kissed 

By  rain-drops  pelting  to  the  grateful  ground. 

I  knew  the  clouds  would  spread  the  rich,  wide  plain, 
And  dripping  showers  would  fall 


1 1 8  California  Suns/tine. 

Where  grain  grows  thick  and  tall, 
And  tender  stalks  would  grow  for  love  of  rain. 


I  knew  the  scraggy  oaks,  that  leaving  grow, 
Would  shake  their  new-grown  tops, 
And  showers  of  pearly  drops 

Would  glitter  on  the  grassy  sward  below. 

Where  rolls  such  living  green  the  landscape  o'er, 
How  could  we  faithless  prove! 
God  has  such  boundless  love 

That  where  he  blesses  he  will  bless  the  more. 


DARE. 


[Read  at  the  Alumni  Reunion  of  Napa  College.] 

WHAT  I  speak  you  have  known  in  your  soul: 
Through  the  mists  of  my  thought  I  have  seen 
How  men  rise  from  the  depth,  and,  supreme, 
Walk  in  glory  and  peace  to  their  goal. 

Walk  in  glory  and  peace!     They  have  crossed 
The  dark  valley  of  fear;  they  have  passed 
Through  the  billows  of  doubt;  at  the  last 
You  must  cross.     You  will  dare  or  be  lost. 


Moods.  i  1 9 

As  we  labor  and  do,  life  is  long. 

What  is  fear  but  a  pang,  but  a  wound, 

That  will  spill  our  heart's  blood  on  the  ground  ? 

But  to  dare  is  to  walk  and  grow  strong. 

As  we  dare  we  shall  climb  and  grow  strong, 
And  the  wind,  it  shall  seem  but  a  song; 
And  the  burdens  shall  fall,  and  the  lights 
Of  God's  blessing  shall  shine  on  the  heights. 

Not  for  glory  alone  should  we  dare; 
There  arc  visions  high  up  in  the  air; 
There  are  visions  of  angels  and  men; 
You  shall  walk  with  good  company  then. 

You  should  dare  to  be  purer  and  higher; 
You  should  dare  to  look  up  from  the  mire; 
You  should  dare  to  aspire  to  life's  throne 
For  the  grandeur  of  failure  alone. 

You  will  dare  to  be  humbb  sometime, 

In  that  realm  where  thought  reigneth  sublime, 

For  the  truth  rises  up  to  the  sun; 

But  humanity  grasps,  and  is  done. 

What  I  write  you  have  learned  by  your  years. 
You  are  brave,  you  are  humble,  are  true, 
Then  shall  life  show  God's  meaning  to  you, 
And  great  peace  shall  be  measured  for  tears. 


I  20  California  Sunshine. 

NAPA. 


FAIR  Napa,  bowered  in 
By  sweet  acacia,  made 

The  trysting  place  of  Spring, 
Beloved  of  sun  and  shade. 

"  God's  garden  "  painted  there, 

A  faultless  gem  thou  art! 
Pure  as  a  maiden  lives 
Thy  memory  in  my  heart. 


§- 


THE  BEST. 


TWAS,  after  all,  the  best— 
The  place  of  the  wild  bird's  nest, 
Built  where  the  bird  on  the  wing 
Grew  wearied  and  stopped  to  sing. 

E'en  so  the  heart  finds  rest; 
Troubled  and  hurt  in  its  quest, 
It  finds  some  place  by  the  way 
The  safest  and  best  to  stay. 


Moods,  1  2  I 

STRENGTH. 

I  DARE  you  to  make  me  sad; 
I've  found  that  life  is  hopeful  and  fair; 
You  cannot  drag  me  to  any  despair. 
But  some  reprieve  can  be  had. 

Of  my  friends  there  none  remain? 
The  world  is  wide;  there  are  more  to  find; 
They  count  but  little  who  stay  behind, 
I  f  I've  not  myself  to  blame. 

My  name  is  flung  to  the  dust  ? 
Then  like  the  flower  seed  hid  from  view, 
If  it  cannot  rise  and  blossom  anew 
'Tis  well,  and  perish  it  must. 

My  face  as  it  now  appears  ? 
The  flower  must  yield  to  the  fruit.      Far  more 
Than  favors  of  youth  do  I  hold  in  store 
The  wisdom  of  garnered  years. 


And  love,  you  can  take  that  too, 
But  my  heart's  pure  life  you  cannot  take, 
Nor  the  grace  it  can  save  for  love's  sweet  sake, 
Nor  the  warmth  that  will  come  anew. 


122  California    Suns  I  line. 

'Tis  health  and  zest  that  are  glad  ? 
Then  I  will  be  glad  till  all  is  lost, 
And  never  despair  till  the  tide  is  crossed 
To  the  land  where  none  are  sad. 


>'      O-THE  A 

UNIVERSITY 


OF 


YB  I  1 82 


; 


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